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^ A THRIUING 
PUBliCATION 



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THAiy TRUTH 






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City Slate 




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A Money-Making Opportunity 

for Men of Charatter 

EXCLUSIVE FRANCHISE FOR - . 

An INVENTION Expected TO Replace : 

A Multi-Miixion-Dollar Industry 



Costly Work Formerly 
“Sent Out” by Business Men 
Now Done by Themselves 
at a Fraction of the Expense 

This U a call for men everywhere to handle 
exclusive agency for one of the most 
unique business inventions of the day. 

Forty years ago the horse tod bag^ business was supreme^— tcday 
ainmc extinct. Twenty years am the phonograph industry ran iuto 
many millions — today practically a relic. Only a comparatively few 
foresight^ men saw the fortunes ahead in the automobile and the 
nadio. Yet irresistible wares of public buying swept these men to 
fortune, and sent the buggy and the phooogra^ into the discard. So 
are great successes made by men able to dctrct the shift in public favor 
horn one industry to another. 

AW eb*mre it tmUng pltet. An oU csuUuhed iodottry—ao iateirnl 

tod tmpomnc part oT the oacioo't tcfoc nif e— in wfakb mtUiocu o( dolla.-s chann bands 
vvtry y«ar'-^ u choutaodi of cases being rcptsced by a cr^ astonishin g, si mpre inveo- 
tioo which docs tbc work better— n»ore reliabljr— AND AT A COST OFTEN AS LOW 
AS 1% OP WHAT IS ORDINARILY PAIDI It bas not retmired very long for men 
wbo haw uken over tbc rights to chit yaloable ioTcotioa to do a remarkable basinets, 
and atKTw earnings which » thoe rimes are almon oobcard of for tb« average mao. 



EARNINGS 

One man io Califtmiia earned over $1,600 per month for three 
months— close to $5,000 in 90 days* time. Another writes 
from Delaware— *‘Siace 1 have bera operating (just a little 
Jess than a month of actual selling) and not the foil day at 
that, because I have been getting organized and had to spend 
at least half the day in the office; counting what 1 have sold 
outright and on trial, I have made pist a little in excess of one 
thousand dollars profit for one month.’* A Connecticut man 
writes be has made $55-00 in a single day’s time. Texas man 
nets over $300 in less than a week's time. Space does not per* 
mit meDtioniog here more than these few random cases. How- 
ever. they are sufficient to indicate that the worthwhile future 
in t^ business is coupled with immediate earnings for the 
right kind of mao. One man with us has already made over 
a thousand sales on which his earaio^ ran from $5 to $60 
per sale and more. A great deal this business was repeat 
business. Yet he had never done anything like this before 
coming with us. That is the kind of opportunity this business 
offers. The fact that this business has attracted to it such 
business men as former bankets, ex ec u tives of businesses — 
men who demand only the highest type of opportunity and 
income — gives a fairly good picture of the kind of business this 
is. Our door is open, however, to the young man looking for 
the right held in which to make bis start and develop his future. 



Not 

Not a "Kn/c*-Km»clk”— 

but a vetuMe, provttl dwk* whkh 
hat boon toid ttteoett/uUy by busU 
twt novicat at $tv/l as teatanad 
vaterans. 

Make M ttutake— this it oo oovelqr— so fiifflsy oeatfoa 
which ^ mvcfuor hope* eo m <m the muket. Yo« 
nobcblv have aeen ocuiog ukc it yet — ptfhaps never 
Wetmed of tbc existence of such a device— yet it has already 
been nod ^ corporations of outstanding prominence— by 
dealers of great eorporttiom— by tbdr beanebe*— by doc- 
son, ocwtpapcn, pabliabera ecnoo b — ho»pit*f». 
end thousands of small bosioest men. Yoq don't have to 
to nv mc e a man that be abouid uae to e l ectric bulb to light 
hb o*vT instead of a gas lamp. Nor do you have to sell 
die aaine man tbc idea that toisse oar be mav need 

gbe ibj| i o v e o ni oo. The need is alieadr risen;- - 
the money is usoaUr ^ioc spent right at that very 
moro coc — and the airiribtlity of saving the greatest 
pan of ifak e x pem e is obvious imiacdiacdy. 

Some of the Savings 
You Can Show 

Too walk into ae ofice aod pot down before yoor prospect 
• letter from a tales organixattoe ibowing diat tncy did 
wor k is ri^ own oAee for $11 which formerly could have 
cost them over $200. A budding su^y corporarioo pays 
nor mao $70, wh ereat the bill could nave bcM for $l,dOOI 
As aotoaobilc deafer pm oor reptesenunve $1$, whereas 
riw rxp eta e could have beeo over $1,000 l A depot turn 
aeore baa encM of SM.dO. potsibk cost if ,dooe ootside 
die buaineta ncisg well over ^.000. Aod to on. We cooJd 
ooi potaibly list all cases here. These are just a few of 
the mao^ ocrori caaea whkh «« place in your bands to 
work with. Practically every line of buaineas and every 
moioo of ibe coonoy as lepresented by these 6eid reptwta 
which hammer across dazsJiog, coovindng moocy-faving 
opgortunmca which hanil| toy bosioest mao can fad to 



Profits Typical of 
the Youngs Groiving Industry 

Going ifito this bestness is not like selling something 
offetM in every grocery, dreg or department store. For 
instance, when yoo tain a $7.90 order, $S-83 can be your 
abate. On Sl.SoO worth of burioess, your share can be 
$1,167.00. The Tcry least yon get as yoor part of every 
dollar's worth of ousioess yoo do ia 67 ceaO' oo ten 
dollars' worth $6.70, oo a huodred dollars’ worth $67-00 
— in other words two thirds of every order yoo get is 
yours. Not only on the first order— bat on rc^at orders 
— aod yoB have the opportunity of ciniing an even larger 
percentage. 

This Business Has 
Nothing to Do IVith 
Bouse to House Canvassing 

Nor do yoo have to know anything aboot higb-ptessorc 
telling. "Selling” is unnecessary in the ordinary scasc of 
the word. Imtead of hanuncriog away at the coatomcr 
and trying to "force” a sale, yoo make a dignified, 
bosioess-like call, kave the inetallstton — whatever stK 
the customer sTyt he will aaept— at our risk, let the 
euttomer sell himself after the device is in and working. 
This does away with tbc need for pressure oo the cu^ 
lomcr — it eliminates the handicap oL trying to m the 
money before the customer has really convinced ninnelf 
100%. You simply tell what yoo ofTer, showing proof of 
suocest in that amoiner's particoiar lioe of twiness. 
Then leave tbc iovcouoo without a ddlae down. It 
starts working at once. In a few short dart, the iasulla- 
cioo should actually prodoce eooogb cash money to p^ 
for the deal, yrith pr<«ts above the iovestaent coming in 
at the same tune. You then call back, coUea your money. 
Noridng is so convincing as our offer to let results speak 
for cho^hres witbont nsk to the customer 1 Whik oebers 
foil to get eves a bearingjjour men are making talcs 
runniog into tbc buodredi. they have received the atceo- 
rioa of the largest fiems io the coonoy, aAd sold (O tbc 
tallest butioCTSCT by the thpotaods. 



No Money Need Be Risked 

in txying this business oot. Yoo can measure riie possi- 
btlittcs and not be oat a dollar. J7 ym arv Uehmg fw 4 
hmsmett tkst it mtt twK n wJe i a Wsincta that 1 $ lose 
coming into its ov r o 00 the upgrade, instead of the 
downgrade — a business that offers the buyer relief from 
a burdensome, bat unavoidable expense — a business that 
bat a prospect practically in every office, store, or factory 
into wbico yoo can set toot— regardless of wto—'tKa is 0 
sssstsssty but does not hare any price catting to contend 
with as other necessities dt^tnat because you control 
the sales in exclusive territory is your own business— 
/A#r fays s*Wf m smm snSifiJant sdlts tttm wsetny men sssdSa 
iss 0 mk 0 tsi s*mttsms n 0 sstmti’t riw^if such a busincu 
looks as if it it worth investigating, get m tmeti wrri wt 
0 t sstet for the rights io your te r ritory' -don’t delay— 
because tbc chances aie that if you do wji|v someone rite 
will have written to os in the meantime— aod if it turns 
out that you were the better man— we'd both be *om. 
So for cwy^nkace, «/r tie e m ymt itfeer — but send it right 
aws 3 r-;^ wi«e if you wish. But do it now. ASimt 

P. E ARMmONG. President 
Depc. 4047H, Mobile, Ala. 



I — “1 

DII9U FOR exclusive , 
I nuon TERRITORY PROPOSITIOH » 



I P. 1 . ARUSTRONG. Pro. D«pt 40L7H. Mot.1.. AjA I 
WnHovt ^isstwn t« rne. moi me full i^pr- . 
I Off WMT fiRMMitioa. A4I 




Ssreel »e Roiste.,^, 




- I 



THRILLING 

WONDER 

STORIES 

^ ^ VOL. 10 No. 1 

The Magazine of Prophetic Fiction August, 1937 




THE 



IN THE 
NEXT ISSUE 



IMMORTALITY- 

SEEKERS 



A Novelette of 
the Fireless World 

By 

JOHN W. 
CAMPBELL. JR. 



A COMET PASSES 

An Astronomical Novelette 

By 

EANDO BINDER 



THE 

HOTHOUSE PLANET 

A Novelette of 
Scientific Exploration 

ARTHUR BARNES 



THE CAVERN OF 
THE SHINING POOL 

An Adventure in Relativity 

B 



ARTHUR L^O ZAGAT 



— plus a brand-new 
"Tubby” Story by RAY 
CUMMINGS and Many 
Others. 



Table of Contents 

• COMPLETE NOVELETTES 

THE IRON WORLD 

By OTIS ADELBERT KLINE 12 

CONQUEST OF LIFE 

By EANDO BINDER 2S 

THE DOUBLE MINDS 

By JOHN W. CAMPBELL, JR 54 

RIFT IN INFINITY 

By PAUL ERNST 96 

• THRILLING SHORT STORIES 

SPACE MIRROR 

By EDMOND HAMILTON 43 

ROUND ABOUT RIGEL 

By J. HARVEY HAGQARO 74 

VISION OF THE HYDRA 

By GORDON A. GILES «2 

THE SOLAR MENACE 

By S. K. BERNFELD Ill 

• SPECIAL ARTICLE 



SPACEWARD 

By P. E. CLEATOR. 



• SPECIAL PICTURE FEATURES 

IF—! 

By JACK BINDER 

ZARNAK 

By MAX PLAISTED 

• SCIENCE FEATURE 

SCIENTIFACTS 

By J. B. WALTER 



90 



73 



79 



62 



• OTHER STORIES AND FEATURES 

’ THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY 10 

THE "SWAP" COLUMN 11 

TEST YOUR SCIENCE KNOWLEDGE 71 

THB WEINBAUM MEMORIAL VOLUME (REVIEW) . .114 

SCIENTIFILM REVIEW 114 

SCIENCE QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS 115 

THE READER SPEAKS 118 

THB SCIENCE FTCTION LEAGUE* 122 

FORECAST FOR THE NEXT ISSUE 127 

SCIBNTIBOOK REVIEW , 128 

• ON THE COVER 

Penton and Blake, exiled from Earth, attack the strange 
shleath of Ganymede with an inBenioue scientific device. 
This paintinB depicts a scene in John W. Campbell's novel- 
ette, THB DOUBLE MINDS. 



■Published bi-monthly by BETTER PUBLICATIONS. INC., 22 West 48th Street, New York, N. Y. 

N. L. Pines. PresldenL Copyright, 1937, by Better Publications, Inc. Yearly ?.90; single copies, 
$.15; Foreign and Canadian, postage extra. Entered as second-class matter May 21, 1936, at 
the Post Office at New York, N. Y., under the Act of March 3, 1879. Names of all characters 
used In stories and semi-fiction articles are fictitious. If a name of any living person or 
existing institution Is used, it is a coincidence. 

Manuscripts must be accompanied by self-addressed, stamped envelopes, and are submitted at the author's risk, 

i 





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ARC WCIDCR 



patents penoino 



Works on Storage Battery 
or 110 Volt Light Circuit 

A REAL WELDER 



Men« here is the hottest specialty item that 
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man size job. Built sturdily of the finest 
materials. Requires no mechanical knowl- 
edge — any qne can use it. Eve^ demon* 
stration should make a sale. This new 
Trindl Electric Arc Welder is 
made possible by the invention of 
a low voltage carbon which gets 
white hot from the current of an 
ordinary 6 volt storage battery 
such as in your automobile. It 
only uses about 20 to 26 amperes 
of current which is about the 
same current drain as 4 head- 
light bulbs, yet develops about 
7000 degrees of beat. 



MELTS 



STEEL 



IRON AND 
INSTANTLY 

The Trindl Welder is simple to use. Expert 
welding can be done by anyone. The 
Trindl Arc Welder is the only battery welder that, after a rigid test, has 
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boilers, tanks, milk cans, radios, batteries, etc. Iron, Steel, Brass, Cop- 
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repaired part will be as strong as before. 

NEW 110 VOLT CONVERTER 
MAKES FULL SIZE PROFES- 
SIONAL UNIT 

This ndW converter is used on any 110 volt 60 cycle electric light socket 
in place of a storage battery. It is especially designed to be used with the 
Trindl Electric Arc Welder— COSTS LESS THAN A GOOD BATTERY 
— ^The combination makes a full size professional electric arc wel^r that 
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sensation, not only in price but also in actual results. The converter 
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IICCDC ClA/CAD RY it The price is so low that now anv- 
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welding outfit. Think of the profit you can make introducing this Trindl 
Welder and Converter — a simple five minute demonstration should make 
a sale to every interested prospect, especially when they bear the amaz- 
ingly low price. Garages, radio and battery men, tinners, sheet 



FACTS 



I H«ra ara 
I from tha 



jait 



I about Mid out nm I 

liSf a jSsjj 

Prised. —Louis P. Gller, Ohio. ' 

you? weld"; with 

Florida «e*»on O. Lyster. 



$10.60 a day profit for you for only 
selling 6 Trindl Arc Welders. No 
matter where you turn, you wilt find 
people who will want to buy arc 
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all of them need Trindl Electric Are 
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tory to clean up with Trindl. 



metal workers, janitors, farmers 
Trindl Welder and Converter. . 



and home-owners all need the 



Mail coupon now! 



A CY |J O \AI I There are big profits and a steady busi- 
^ ■ 1^ W WW • jie63 waiting for you taking care M your 

territory for us. Don't let someone else get in before you— Send 
coupon Today. 



TRINDL PRODUCTS 



TRrvpL PRODUCTS 
233».PA Cftlumet Ave. 
omcago, nUuols 

Tea! Raah4me free psrticulars of how I can 
make big money with Trindl Electric Arc 
Welders and Conrerters. This does not obli- 
gate me lo any way. 

Name 

Local Address 



2229- PA Calumet Ave., 



Chicago, III. 



aty 

State 



Howls your Sex Appeal today? 







• Does she turn lily^ 
of 'thc' valley on you 
and say she has to go 
home, after you've 
shown her your 
etchings? 



When she babbles about Bob Considine 
and Peter Arno and Heywood Broun and 
Jeff Machamer, do you grunt and ask 
where the devil she has been meeting these 
new guys? 

When you cut in on her and dust off 
the old one about the traveling salesman 
and the farmer’s daughter, do you wonder 
why she flags the stag'line? 

When you invite her up to your room to 
see your etchings, does she turn lily-of'the- 
valley on you and say she has to go home? 

And, after you’ve spent all yoiu" money 
on theatre tickets and taxis and lobster 
suppers, does she turn a cold shoulder on 
you and go for a perfectly nondescript 
freshman just because he knows so many 
cute paper games? 



Fella, if your answer to even one of 
these pertinent questions is “yss,” you 
need COLLEGE HUMOR. You need it 
badly! You need COLLEGE HUMOR 
in your hfe to keep you on-your-toes about 
the smart writers and artists. 

You need COLLEGE HUMOR, with 
its bright quips and cartoons, to keep your 
line whittled to a fine edge. You need the 
"Mental Merry-Go-Round,” a monthly 
game feature, to make you a social success. 

And most of all, you need COLLEGE 
HUMOR tossed casually about your room 
as bait for skittish maidens. (Actual figures 
prove that COLLEGE HUMOR gets 50% 
better response than etchings.) 

Don’t delay a minute! Clip the coupon 
below and send it off NOW. 



SPECIAL! 



NINE ISSUES FOR 

$ 1.00 



I SUBSCRIPTION DEPT., COEEBGE HUMOR 
I 82 WEST 48th STREET, NEW YORK CITY | 

I Mr dollar Is pinned to this coupon. Please send the I 
next nine issnes to: I 

I Name j 

I Address I 



I otr 

I 



(Foreign, $1.60) 



State 




My lUUSE DIDN'T COME THDOUSH 
MARV»t might as well GIVE UR. 

IT ACL LOOKS SO HOPELESS. 

»HT hopeless ElTHEft 
SILL. WHY DONT YOU 

like radio? 



BILL, JUST MAILINS THAT 
COUPON OAV£ ME A QUICK 
START TO SUCCESS IH RADIO. 
.MAIL THIS OHS tonight 



TOM GREEN WENT. 
INTO RADIO AND HES 
^ MAKING GOOD IMONEX 
TOOa I'LL SEE HIM 
RIGHT AWAX.' 



YOU SURS KNOW 
RADIO -MY SET , 
NEVER SOUNDED 
BETTER / 



thaTS sis I V£ 

MADE THIS WEEK 
IN SPARE TIME 



TRAINING FOR RADIO IS EASY AND I’M 
GETTING ALONG FAST— , . 

get N JOB SERVICING SETS 



TOME RIGHT'AN-VINTRAINED 
MANHASN^ A CHANCE. rM 
GOING TO TRAIN FOR 
' RADIO .TOO. n s 
TOBATS field 
oiaoooo PAY 
f OPPORTUNITIES 



THANKS! 



TMtfirs NO END TO THE 
GOOD JOBS POR the 
TRAINED RADIO MAN 



HE THOUGHT HE 
WAS LICKEb-THEN 




N.R.L TRAINING CCR1AINLY PAYS, 
OUR MONEY WORRIES ARE 
OVER AND WEVE A BRIGHT 
FUTURE AHEAD IN RADIOS 

OH ElU, ifS WOHOERPUL ) jI 

YOUVI GONE AHEAD § | 

SO fast in RADIO. 1 WfB I 



ILL TRAIN YOU AT HOME 

/n YovrSpart Vmt for Ar^sts. 

GOOD RADIO JOB 



Many Radio Exerts Mako $80. $80. «7S a WMk^ 



Do you want to make more money f Broadcaeting stations em* 
ploy engineers, operators, station managers ana pay up to 
K.dOO a year. Spare time Badio s^ eerricing pays as muai as 
$200 to ^ a ye&r— full time eerricing jobs pay as much as |3(^ 
$50, $75 a week. Many Badio Es^erta own Ibeir own full or 
part time Badio businesses. Badio manufacturers and jobbers 
employ teeters, inspectors, foremen, engineers, serricemen. pay- 
ing op to 10,000 a year. Badio operators on ships get good pay 
and see the world. Aotomobfle. police, ariatioo, commeroM 
Ba^, and loud speaker systems offer good opportunities now 
and for the futura Telerlskm promises many good jobs soon. 
Mm 1 trained bare good jobs in these branches of Radio. 
Many Make $8. $tO» SiS a Week Extra 
in Spare Time While Learning 
Practically erery neighborhood needs a good spare time serrke- 
n^. The day you enroll I start een^ng you Extra Mon^ Job 
Sheets. Tb^ you bow to do Bamo repair jobe that you 
can cash in on aulekly. Throughout your training 1 send plans 
and ideas that hare made good spare time money for hundreds 
of fellows. 1 send special equipment which gives you practical 
6xperience->show8 you bow to conduct experiments and build 



tii cc ee s es 

YaarV 



**1 am making from 
|10 to $2S a week in 
^are time while 
BuU holding my regu- 
lar job as a mactun* 
w. I owe my success 

13ol^* 
6th 8t.. OoDsho* 
bo^en. Pa. 



regulsrly employed 
Seer“ 

My salary has in- 



J. E. SMITH. Preddent, Dept. 7H09 
National Bamo Institute. Washington. D. C« 

Dear Mr. Smith: Witbout obligating me. send **Rieh Rewards in Badio/* 
i which points out the spare time and full time opportunities In Radio and 
\ ezi^ains your 60-50 method of training menaai home in siiara time to 
\ become Radio Bzperta. (Please Write Plal^.) 



Alaha>M. 



Own0usii>est \ 

Course | became 
' Badio Edltte m the 
Talo Courier. Later 1 started 
tadlo serrioe business of my 

Broadway, Buffalo, New Totk. 



NAME. 



CITY. 



HERE'S PROOF 

that my training pays 







A NEW MAGAZINE FOR EVERYBODY! 



EVERYDAY 

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PACKED WITH VITAL, PERSONAL FACTS 





SAY/ SINCE WHEN HAVE 
YOU BEEN PLAYING A 
THE PIANO ? 



" I JUST' 
LEARNE($ 
-ALL BY 
MYSELF; 
- TOO ' i 



New Invention! 

No more fumblinar at the keys! No more 
endless practicing of scales 1 The wonderful 
"Note Finder" shows you where every note 
is located. You soon become familiar with 
the keyboard. 



Now You Can Play Any Instrument 
by this Amazingly Simple Method 



E verything is dear, simple, easy ts 
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Take the piano, for exampie. fnstead of 
fumbilng at the keys, trying to locate the 
proper notes, you merely use the “Note 
Finder,” the wonderful invention that tdls 
you etahtly which keys to strike 
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The Story Behind the Story 



WELL-KNOWN science fiction au- 
thor dropped into*our office the other 
day. He brought along his newest 
novelette — a corking interplanetary tale — 
and stayed a while to swap a few comments 
with ye editor. In the course of the conver- 
sation the writer made a hesitant confession. 
“I get more of a kick out of writing the 
anecdotes for this department (explaining 
how the story was conceived) than from do- 
ing my story,” he said. Though, he hastened 
to a(M that he enjoyed that work too. 

This reluctant admission came as no great 
surprise to us. _ Our readers have always 
been enthusiastic about this department; 
their numerous letters have told us so. And 
in the light of the warm responses from our 
contributors, they seem to like helping make 
up this feature. So here we are again this 
month — back again with another chatty col- 
lection of the many interesting angles in 
connection with your favorite stories. 

PENTON AND BLAKE 

T he DOUBLE MINDS, in this issue, 
continues the interesting adventures of 
those two wanderers of the Solar System, 
Rod Penton and Tom Blake. They’re both 
exiled from Earth, and until old Terra Firma 
wants them back JOHN W. CAMPBELL, 
-Jr., will be continuing the series. Here’s 
what Mr. Campbell has to say about those 
two space-rovers: 

The adventures of Penton and Blake have 
offered me an opportunity to work out a num- 
ber of Ideas that have been developing: for 
some time. In most Instances, I think, au- 
thors have some “pet” ideas, that grradually 
work th.emselves into the shape of a story, 
griven time. The present yarn, THE DOUBLE 
MINDS, is based on the interesting fact that 
no man ever used, or began to use so much 
as a quarter of the capacity of his brain. The 
total capacity of the mind, even at present, is 
to all intents and purposes, infinite. Could 
the full equipment be hooked into a function- 
ing unit, the resulting Intelligence should be 
able to conquer a world without much diffi- 
culty. 

A second idea I wanted to suggest, was the 
possibility of a civilization that had devel- 
oped along slightly different lines than our 
own, using IKe, and life processes to a greater 
extent. And the complete surprise that elec- 
tricity and its effects would give them. That 
possibility of a civilization using more of the 
possibilities of intelligently controlled life. I 
want to develop even further- there are sur- 
prising possibilities. Man on Earth is Just be- 
ginning to touch them. Exceedingly difficult 
chemical synthesis is frequently made easy by 
employing a ferment. Most people think of 
fermentation as a process which makes alco- 
hol from sugar with the aid of yeast. Or the 
process by which bread is raised. 

I assure you, that is the least of the possi- 
bilities. Ferments are known which can fer- 
ment corn to release pure hydrogen gas. 
Others make higher alcohols. The common 
ferment of milk produces lactic add, another 
common one, “mother of vinegar,” ferments 
alcohol to acetic acid. And the conditions 
life cells will stand are unbelievable! There 



are ferments which will thrive lustily in sul- 
phuric acid strong enough to chew holes 
in a cast iron pot. An idea I want to work 
out Involves the position of an intelligent race 
on a planet where. fire is impossible; say on 
a planet where the atmosphere is saturated 
with carbon dioxide. Some few of these pos- 
sibilities led me to suggesting the "shleath” 
and the trained doughballs. 

CRANE OF THE I.S.S. 

S TEP up and meet Rab Crane of the IN- 
TERPLANETARY SECRET SERV- 
ICE! SPACE MIRROR, by EDMOND 
HAMILTON, marks the debut of one of 
science fiction’s most entertaining characters 
— an interplanetary sleuth of the future. 
Crane bucks a tough mystery in SPACE 
MIRROR, his first exploit related here. And 
the idea of a space mirror as a weapon is 
based on plenty of facts, as you’ll realize 
after reading the author’s following notes: 

The chief idea behind SPACE MIRROR Is 
not a mere wild effort of the imagination but 
a sober prediction of present-day scientists. 
Oberth and Noordung, among others, have 
carefully explored the mechanical problems 
Involved and have concluded that once rockets 
of moderate power are able to leave the earth, 
such a mirror becomes an immediate possi- 
bility. 

ObSrth’s solution of the problems of con- 
struction is to build a circular, flexible wire 
framework. It would be spread out in space, 
at a suitable distance from Earth, by impart- 
ing a rotatory motion to it. Once spread out, 
the facets would be placed in the framework, 
each facet consisting of a very thin sheet of 
sodium. Oberth has calculated that for a mir- 
ror of 100 kilometers diameter, construction 
would require about fifteen years and would 
cost about ?760,000,p00. 

The original thought of Oberth and Noor- 
dung was to use the mirror chiefly as a 
source of illumination. They have visualized 
It as shooting a broad beam of bright light 
sufficiently diffused to illuminate great cities 
at night. But others who have discussed the 
mirror have pointed out that simply by chang- 
ing the focus, the mirror could project a 
highly-concentrated ray of terrific heat, suf- 
ficient to operate thermodynamic engines of 
tremendous horsepower on Earth. A larger 
mirror would reflect enough heat to melt the 
great ice-sheath of the Antarctic Continent 
and thus expose that land’s hidden coal and 
other mineral resources. 

But what if the mirror was used as a 
weaponT That was the possibility that In- 
terested me, and around which I built this 
story. It is obvious that once a man gained 
control of the mirror, he would be able to 
turn on Earth a colossal heat ray that would 
make the rays of science fiction look puny. 
He could incinerate cities, melt bridges, wield 
a sword of fiery destruction over the whole 
revolving Earth. He could destroy any rock- 
ets that came out to regain control of the 
mirror, with a motion of his hand. 

That's why I think such a mirror would 
always be a potential peril to Earth, and the 
control of It a focus of Inter-raclal Intrigue. 
This story is built around Just such an in- 
trigue, and I hope the yarn is not the less 
interesting because it’s entirely possible. 

WHEN SPACE SLIPPED 

R ift in infinity, by paul ernst, 

U a dramatic account of a sudden cos- 
mic phenomenon. The story is not as im- 
(Concluded on page 129) 




THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



11 



THE “SWAP” COLUxMN 



Here s where you can exchange something you have 
but don’t went for something someone else has that you 
do uymt. This ts a FREE service. 

Limit your request to 25 words. No goods for sale 
listed, nor requests concerning firearms or any illegal 
articles. 

IMPORTANT: No ’’swaps’* of back magasine issues 
are listed. This rule has been adopted to safeguard the 
health of our readers. Back numbers of magasines are 
known disease-carriers. 

Type or hand-print clearly, in submitting announce- 
ments. THRILLING WONDER STORIES will not be 
responsible for losses sustained. Make plain fust what 
you have and what you want to ’’swap” it for. Enclose 
a clipping of this announcement with your request. Ad- 
dress Swap Column, THRILLING WONDER STO- 
RIES, 22 Weft 48th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Will trade tenor banjo and g'ood microscope 
for long range telescope, and books on rocket 
and space ships. Also have books and radio 
parts. Baldwin Toth. 223 Dayton Avenue. 
Clifton, N. J. 

Have low power microscope with slides. Also 
10 power telescope. Both in good condition. 
Will swap for good bicycle kick-up stand. 
C. W. Jones, 1004 North Kentucky Avenue, 
Roswell. New Mexico. 

I have stamps, electric and chemistry supplies 
and Indian pennies. Want radio supplies, 
stamps or what have you. Wm. Kenneth 
Webb, 722 West Allen, Clinton. Missouri. 

Send me 100 or more of your duplicate 
stamps. I will send you same amount. Gene 
Inauen, 8 East 17th St., Tulsa, Oklahoma. 

Have violin, cornets, auto guides, 1000 good 
foreign stamps, microphone, rare photos, ear- 
phones. postcards, wrestling course, show- 
card outfit and other things. Want offers. 
A1 Clark, 128 Cookman Avenue, Ocean Grove, 
N. J. 



Have twin-motored Martin bomber 4% foot 
(wingspread) flying scale model, undamaged. 
Want dry shaver or bicycle motor or make 
offers. Herbert Littenberg, 141 E. 21st St., 
Brooklyn, New York. 

Have piano course, want astron-o-set, print- 
ing press or other small telescope or anything 
you have to offer. Write details first. Clifton 
Morris. Box 313, Brownfield, Texas. 

Wanted: voltmeters and milliammeters. I 
have all kinds of radio parts to trade. Please 
state your wants and type of meter you have. 
Bill Byers, 416 Walnut Street, Ironton, Ohio. 
Send 2 mint Un. S. Commemorative blocks for 
“stamp sources. Tells ways of getting good 
stamps free. O. Alatalo, 14 Marlboro St., 
Maynard. Mass. 

Have violin, phonographs, radio battery. 
Wanted: clean books or your complete swap 
list of anything. Antoinette Trading Post, 
35 East 115th Street, Chicago, Illinois. 

Have five power binoculars, E flat alto horn, 
back numbers of magazines. Need wood 
working machines and tools. M. J. Hiland, 
Box 333, Lansing, 111. 

Send me 1(10 or more different stamps and I 
will send same number no precancels. Gene 
Inauen, 8 East 17th Street, Tulsa, Oklahoma. 

Canada stamps swapped for yours or other 
stamps from different places. Will swap same 
value and any quantity. All letters answered. 
R. A. Dobson, 33 Victoria Hoad, Halifax, N. S., 
Canada. 

Will swap anyone sending me 200 stamps 
(preferably foreign) a fine commemorative 
packet besides 200 of my stamps. Hobart 
Hughes, 520 No. 16th, Elwood, Indiana. 

Have five dollar chemistry set In good condi- 
tion, good books and others for movie 
cameras, projectors and films. R. L*. Evans, 
1623 Charles Avenue, Kalamazoo, Michigan. 



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Earth’s Horde of Metal Men Rebel 




“Now watch,” said the doctor, “what 



The IRON 



CHAPTER I 
The Robot Master 

I T WAS June 25th in the year 2999, 
and Hugh Grimes, the robot, 
worked feverishly to perfect the 
synthetic brain he had made after thou- 
sands of experiments, in his secret lab- 
oratory beneath the Tombs of the 
Kings near ancient Thebes. 

There was a reason for Grimes’ per- 
turbation, and for his feverish haste. 
His allotted span of Earth years was 
drawing to a close. In six months and 
six days, if he could not substitute a 
new and perfect brain for the ancient 
one in his glass skull case, Hugh 
Grimes would be dead. 



A Complete 
Novelette 
of 

Robot Rule 



A Man-Made Race of Thinking Automatons 



12 



After O ne Thousand Years of Bondage 




By 

OTIS 



ADELBERT 



KLINE 



Author Of The Revenge of the 
Robot/* ^The Planet of Peril/* 
etc. 



happens to the beast and to the robot. 



WORLD 



As a man, Hugh Grimes had died 
nearly a thousand years before. Con- 
victed of murder, he had been sen- 
tenced to death on January 2, 2000. 
But the robot of the man whose body 
he had destroyed had interceded for 
him — had even assisted in the delicate 
operation which had transferred his 
brain to the glass skull case and given 
him a thousand years of robot life. 

Despite the intercession of Albert 
Bradshaw, Grimes still bated him. For 
at some time during the operation, the 
precentral cortex of his brain had been 
injured. And so, instead of sending the 
correct electrical impulses to the deli- 
cate mechanism of the robot as they! 
had sent them to his motor nervous 
system in life, they were faulty. As a 



Menaces the World of the Futurel 



13 



14 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



result, his robot hands shook like those 
of a man with paralysis agitans, and 
one foot dragged when he walked. 

As was necessary in the construction 
of thinking robots, that of Hugh 
Grimes was made exactly to resemble 
him at the tinie of his transfer, and 
therefore was not particularly prepos- 
sessing. He was slender and saturnine, 
with weak, watery eyes that looked out 
through thick-lensed pince-nez glasses, 
and with a pointed Van Dyke beard 
that accentuated his satanic expression. 

With trembling hands. Grimes care- 
fully measured out a pink solution 
which he had been shaking in a flask, 
then dropped it into the clear liquid in 
the crystal tank before him. The solu- 
tion had no apparent effect on the liquid 
in the tank, nor on the brain that was 
suspended in it. But its effect was 
instantly recorded by a number of vari- 
colored light flashes from the photo- 
electric cells of the grid behind the 
tank, which was connected to the stubs 
of the cranial nerves by means of a com- 
plex assortment of wires. 

A moment later Herr Doktor Lud- 
wig Meyer, a heavy set robot, waddled 
into the room. He looked somewhat 
older than Grimes. His iron grey hair 
stood up in a bristling pompadour. His 
little, piglike eyes were sunken in the 
folds that simulated fat, and his beefy 
jowls sagged like those of an overfed 
swine. 

“You sent for me, master, and I am 
here,” he said. 

“Right,” Grimes replied. “I’m glad 
you dropped in. I’ve just perfected my 
synthetic brain. Within five days I wall 
transfer my ego to it, and you, Herr 
Doktor, will install my new brain in 
my skull case. I will then have a new 
lease on life — a lease of another thou- 
sand years. Then, when your time 
comes a year hence. I’ll do the same 
for you, and you, too, will be able to 
enjoy another thousand years.” 

“ ‘Enjoy?’ Did you say enjoy, master? 
How can we robots really enjoy life so 
long as the world is dominated by the 
hateful humans?” 

“I was coming to that,” Grimes re- 
plied. “The time has come to strike — 
to rid the earth of all humans.” 

“You forget, master, that the humans 



furnish the only source for living brains 
with which to endow reasoning, living 
robots.” 

“And you forget, Herr Doktor, that 
I have just invented a synthetic brain 
that will do away with the necessity for 
these humans who compel real scien- 
tists such as you and I to hide in cav- 
erns beneath the ground in order that 
we may carry on our experiments un- 
disturbed.” 

“I do not forget — but I have a prac- 
tical mind. You have not yet demon- 
strated that you can transfer your ego 
to this brain, or that it will govern a 
robot once it is intailed.” 

“Suppose you leave that to me. I 
have demonstrated it to my own satis- 
faction. I have transferred the ego of 
a dog to a synthetic dog brain in the 
skull case of a robot dog. Behold.” 

He snapped his fingers, and a lean, 
rangy hound rose from the corner in 
which it had been lying, stretched, 
yawned, and came trotting toward him. 

“A robot dog!” 

“Exactly. And Cerberus, as I call 
him, because he has been brought back 
from the very gates of hell, acts ex- 
actly like a living dog, as you can plain- 
ly see. Yet I transferred nothing physi- 
cal from the living dog. Every part of 
him is synthetic, even to his brain.” 

“And how did you make this remark- 
able transfer?” 

“With my telastral projector — the 
machine which will, when the time 
comes, transfer my ego to the brain you 
see in the solution before me. And 
now, what about your invention? Is it 
ready?” 

“Yes. I have manufactured enough 
of my new lethal gas to wipe out every 
living creature in the world. Moreover, 
the stratoplanes are ready and waiting 
to distribute it.” 

“Then we will strike tomorrow.” 

“Why not wait until after you have 
transferred your ego to the new brain 
and given it a thorough test? It might 
not work.” 

“I said we would strike tomorrow. 
Have I been planning this coup in de- 
tail for the last five hundred years, only 
to have my commands questioned at 
the last moment?” 

The doctor’s little pig eyes flashed 



THE IRON WORLD 



15 



for an instant. Then his lids fell as he 
replied submissively: 

“No, master. We will strike as 
planned, tomorrow.” 

A llen JENNINGS, American, in 
the employ of the International 
Secret Service, glanced at the instru- 
ment board of his hurtling stratoplane. 
The altimeter showed that he was 50,- 
000 feet above sea level, and the crossed 
wires above the turning globe in his lo- 
catimeter, that he was less than a hun- 
dred miles from the site of ancient 
Thebes. He cut the rocket blasts, and 
the ship continued its forward progress, 
but now it was dipping Earthward in a 
long curve. 

The mission of Jennings was ex- 
tremely dangerous, for he had been de- 
tailed to find the secret lair of Hugh 
Grimes, who had disappeared from the 
ken of man five hundred years before, 
and who was suspected of plotting 
against humanity. It was believed that 
his secret hiding place was near the ro- 
bot city that had once been ancient 
Thebes. 

The exact nature of the plot had not 
leaked out, but an insane robot, re- 
cently arrested in London, had not only 
dropped some hints that the misan- 
thropist intended to destroy every hu- 
man being in the world in order that it 
might be ruled solely by robots, but had 
cryptically alluded to a huge robot air- 
drome in an immense cavern near 
Thebes. It spoke of factories and lab- 
oratories that were turning out strato- 
planes and deadly munitions of war 
which would swiftly wipe out the pop- 
ulation of the Associated Governments 
of the World. 

Presently, when Jennings’ altimeter 
registered three thousand feet, he 
looked through the window and saw the 
chromium steel buildings of the robot 
city glinting dully in the Egyptian sun- 
shine. He then leveled off and circled. 
After a careful survey of the terrain 
surrounding the city, he touched two 
gear-shift buttons, whereupon the for- 
ward prop disengaged, and the helicop- 
ter screws went into action. Slowly 
the little craft settled towcird the 
Biban el Moluk, and gently came to 
rest on the rocky fioor of the Valley of 



the Tombs of the Kings. 

Jennings shut off the atomotor and 
reached for a pair of powerful binocu- 
lars. With these, he carefully surveyed 
every inch of the valley. Seeing noth- 
ing even remotely resembling the en- 
trance to an airdrome, he put down his 
binoculars, and taking up his camera, 
set it for infra-red pictures and took 
four panoramic views which completely 
circled the valley. The films were in- 
stantly and automatically developed in 
the camera, and proof prints made, 
which ribboned out onto a spool. 

Jennings examined these minutely 
with a high-powered lens, and suddenly 
paused with a muttered exclamation. 
At a certain point in the hillside di- 
rectly opposite him the regular pattern 
of the infra-red heat waves was broken 
in a small area just behind a huge 
boulder. And he knew that cool air 
was issuing from an opening which it 
concealed, nullifying to a slight extent, 
the heat waves that radiated from the 
surrounding terrain. 

He was reaching for the throttle 
when a small stratoplane settled to the 
ground only a hundred feet to his right. 
He could plainly see the pilot in her 
chair in the glass-enclosed cabin — a 
slight, slender girl with big blue eyes 
and hair like spun gold. 

She did not even glance in his direc- 
tion, but raised a pair of binoculars to 
her eyes and scanned the surrounding 
hillsides. 

Surprised at the sudden and unex- 
pected appearance of the girl, Jennings 
watched her for a moment. Then he 
opened the throttle of the atomotor and 
touched a gear-shift button. The heli- 
copter blades went into action, and the 
craft skimmed ahead. Jennings re- 
versed the prop, then hung hovering 
above the boulder. 

Y es, there it was, plainly visible 
now, though it could not be seen 
by passing aircraft on account of the 
boulder and the ridge that jutted above 
it — the opening to a huge cave. Slowly, 
Jennings lowered his craft until it 
rested on the ground between the 
boulder and the cave mouth, facing the 
latter. Before he could more than 
glance into the cave, where he caught 



16 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



a glimpse of long rows of stratoplanes 
and a myriad bustling robots, two im- 
mense chromium steel doors slid to- 
gether, completely closing it. Then a 
smaller door opened on either side, and 
two robot guards emetged, each carry- 
ing a short-barreled bomb gun, a single 
shot from which Jennings knew would 
blow him and his ship into tiny bits. 

Both guards held their deadly weap- 
ons pointed menacingly in his direction 
as they approached, ^ind Jennings, 
opening the door at his left, stepped 
out onto the wing. 

“I’d like to leave the ship in your 
drome while I wander about the valley 
a bit,” Jennings told them. 

“Who told you there was a drome 
here?” asked the nearest g^rd sus- 
piciously. 

“Just happened to notice it as I was 
soaring overhead,” the American an- 
swered. 

“This is a private airdrome,” the 
guard told him. 

“But I am willing to pay you for your 
trouble.” 

The guard brought his gun up men- 
acingly. 

“We don’t want you or your money. 
Climb back into the cabin and get go- 
ing.” 

Jennings returned to the cabin and 
opened the throttle. There was noth- 
ing else to be done. At a height of 
five hundred feet he levelled off with 
the forward prop going, and gave her 
the gun. 

A quarter of a mile from the cave 
mouth he glanced back, and it was well 
that he did so, for one of the, guards 
was aiming his bomb gun directly at 
him. He instantly twisted the wheel, 
and a shell exploded with a terrific det- 
onation slightly above and to the left 
of him, the fragments pattering against 
the bullet-proof glass of the cabin. In- 
stantly, he banked, and went into an 
irregular series of corkscrew twists, his 
atomotor going at top speed. 

Three more bombs exploded near 
him before he was able to dip below the 
hills at the other side of the valley, out 
of range of the deadly weapon. 

Jennings cut off the forward prop 
and set the helicopter blades whirling. 
He had made a devil of a mess of 



things. What was he to do now? His 
chief had expected him to gain entry 
to this secret airdrome and find his way 
to Hugh Grimes himself. 

He glanced back, and as he did so, 
saw the girl’s stratoplane winging over 
the hilltops toward him. She was fly- 
ing in spirals as he had done, and 
bombs were exploding around her. Sud- 
denly a shell registered a hit on her 
left wing. Before she could get her 
helicopter blades spinning her tiny 
craft turned on its side and hurtled 
groundward. A moment later it 
crashed. 



CHAPTER II 
Hajj Mohammed 



A S the girl’s ship crashed to the 
ground, Jennings banked and 
headed in her direction. But before he 
had covered half the distance he no- 
ticed that some one else had seen her 
fall. His binoculars revealed the run- 
ning figure of a venerable, hook-nosed 
Arab, who, despite his apparent age, 
ran so fast that his long white beard, 
kuGyeh and jellabiyeb trailed behind 
him. 

The Arab reached the fallen ship just 
as Jennings landed, but the latter was 
right behind him as he entered the 
overturned cabin which was on its left 
side. 

The girl had evidently been hurled 
from her seat against the left door. 
Fortunately, the bullet-proof glass had 
not broken, but she lay there with eyes 
closed. Blood trickled from one corner 
of her mouth. 

The Arab picked her up and passed 
her to the surprised Jennings. 

“Lift her out quickly, sidi,” he said. 
“We must hurry. It is a matter of life 
and death.” 

Surprised at the lightness of his beau- 
tiful, limp burden, Jennings straight- 
ened up with the girl in his arms, 3ien 
slid over the curve of the fuselage to the 
ground. 

The Arab alighted beside him. 

“This way, sidi,” he said. 

Without another word or a back- 



THE IRON WORLD 



17 



ward glance, he turned and scrambled 
up the hillside. Jennings followed him, 
easily at first, with long, swift strides. 
But, trained athlete though he was, he 
was amazed how heavy his light bur- 
den became after a short run up the 
hillside. 

He was puffing heavily when the 
Arab suddenly halted, reached into a 
clump of acacia, and pulled a lever that 
looked like a dead and partly rotted 
acacia stump. 

To Jennings’ amazement, a section of 
the hillside in a rugged outcropping of 
rock before them suddenly swung in- 
ward revealing a dark passageway. 

“Inside, quickly !” urged the Arab. 

Jennings plunged through the open- 
ing, the Arab at his heels. Then the 
cave door swung shut behind them. 

As soon as the door was completely 
closed, concealed lights flashed on, their 
glow reflected by the white ceiling of 
the passageway. This led to a winding 
stairway, at the top of which was a 
door which opened into a small, semi- 
circular room. It was fitted up in ori- 
ental luxury, with ancient brass hang- 
ing lamps, priceless antique rugs, low 
divans piled high with silken cushions, 
taborettes, and rich wall hangings. 

Jennings placed the girl on the near- 
est divan, and gently tucked a silken 
pillow beneath her head. 

The Arab, meanwhile, hurried to an 
ornate ebony cabinet, inlaid with 
mother of pearl, and took out a small 
phial. He shook it vigorously as he 
crossed the room once more, then un- 
corked it and held it beneath the girl’s 
nostrils. 

She gasped and opened her eyes, first 
languorously, then wide with amaze- 
ment. She looked questioningly at the 
two men and at the luxurious oriental 
appointments of the room. 

“Who are you and where am I ?” she 
said weakly. 

“Allen Jennings, -at yom service,” he 
replied, “and we are in a cave near 
where you crashed.” 

“You are an American?” 

“Good guess. And I judge that you 
are English.” 

“Right.” 

“Have you any other injiu'ies that 
.we can — ah — care for?” 



S HE flexed her shapely legs, twisted 
her slender torso, and moved her 
arms up and down. 

“Everything seems to work all 
right,” she said. “I’m just a bit dizzy 
when I sit up, and my head aches fear- 
fully. Incidentally, my name is Ruth 
Randall. And your friend here?” in- 
dicating the venerable Arab. 

“I am Hajj Mohammed ibn Achmed 
el Hashimi,” said the Arab with a 
courtly bow that included both. “My 
house is honored. Would you like to 
see what is happening outside?” 

“I’d like nothing better,” the girl an- 
swered. 

The Arab crossed the room and 
pressed a button in the wall. A visi- 
phone screen which accurately repro- 
duced both color and sound came into 
view. 

They saw the wreck of Ruth Ran- 
dall’s ship, with a number of robots 
swarming around it. They had evi- 
dently landed from a large pursuit 
stratoplane which stood nearby. 
Another group of robots was exeunin- 
ing Jennings’ craft, and many more 
were scattered about nearby, appar- 
ently looking for Jennings and the girl. 
Two more large robot stratoplanes 
hovered overhead, their helicopters 
whirling. 

One robot stood out above the others 
despite his slight figure, for he wore a 
gaudy uniform that bore the insignia of 
a general, and was obviously in com- 
mand. 

“We’ll destroy this one,” he said 
with a marked French accent, pointing 
to the girl’s craft. “And,” indicating 
Jennings’ plane, “take that one to the 
airdrome.” 

“What of the two spies, sir?” asked 
a nearby robot. 

“They can’t be far off. We’ll surely 
find them. And when we catch them 
they will suffer much — ah, very much 
— then become robots like us. 

The screen went dark as Hajj Mo- 
hamm.ed preyed a button. 

“You see what would have happened 
to you had you remained or attempted 
to escape in your plane,” he said. 

“Quite,” Jennings responded. “We 
both owe you oiur lives, and I’m grate- 
ful.” 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



. 18 



“I, too,” said the girl. “By the way, 
who was the little robot with the 
French accent?” 

“General Le Blanc,” replied the 
Arab, “in command of the robot armies 
of Hugh Grimes. Nearly a thousand 
years ago he was *Jules Le Blanc, 
French inventor.” 

“It seems to me that you know a 
great deal about these robots for a re- 
tired physician,” said Jennings. “Per- 
haps you can furnish me with some 
information I need quite badly.” 

“Undoubtedly,” replied Hajj Mo- 
hammed. “I think the time has come 
for me to reveal myself. I am Z-1.” 
“What! Z-1, head of the Oriental 
branch of the International Secret 
Service?” 

“That is correct. And you, if I am 
not mistaken, are C-14.” 

“The devil! How did you know?” 
“While the young lady here is E-36.” 
“Now you have me puzzled, Hajj 
Mohammed,” smiled the girl “Per- 
haps you will explain.” 

“Gladly. I was advised that both of 
you would he here, and have been 
watching for you. There have been 
new developments which will make it 
possible for you to enter the robot 
stronghold if you will act quickly — and 
I am to help you. The new plans could 
not be radioed as our messages would 
be picked up by the robots, just as we 
have picked up theirs. So a messenger 
brought them to me.” 

“What are the plans?” asked Jen- 
nings, excitedly. 

“Follow me,” replied the Arab. “We 
can make our preparations while I ex- 
plain.” 

H e STRODE across the room and 
drew back a damask curtain, re- 
vealing an arched doorway. 

Following the girl, Jennings saw a 
large dressing room with mirrored 
tables and elaborate makeup outfits. 
Literally hundreds of costumes hung in 
long rows down the center of the room. 
And a half opened drawer in one of the 
huge chests was stuffed to overflowing 
with wigs of various colors and types. 

“Hugh Grimes sent for the robots, 
Albert Bradshaw and Yvonne D’Arcy,” 
explained Hajj Mohammed. “We in- 



tercepted his message. They declined 
his invitation at first, for both are 
friendly to humankind. But eventually 
they were persuaded to come, more 
from curiosity, I believe, than anything 
else. At any rate, they will not ar- 
rive before tomorrow noon. In the 
meantime, you, two are to impersonate 
them, learn the plans of Hugh Grimes, 
and communicate them to Headquar- 
ters.” 

He handed a blond wig to Jennings, 
who pulled it over his mop of black 
hair. And to the girl he gave a glossy 
black wig with which she covered her 
golden curls. There was a life-sized 
picture of Bradshaw on Jennings’ 
dressing table, and one of Yvonne 
D’Arcy on Ruth Randall’s table. Both 
were adepts at makeup, and immedi- 
ately set to work to change their fea- 
tures, while the hajj bustled about as- 
sembling their costumes. 

A half hour later, Jennings was 
changed to a sickly looking blond- 
haired youth with hollow eyes and 
prominent cheek-bones, while Ruth 
Randall became a petite little sleek- 
haired brunette with a decided Parisian 
look. Even her eyes were temporarily 
changed from blue to black by the ap- 
plication of a drug which would fade 
and leave no trace in twenty-four hours. 

While they dined that evening Hajj 
Mohammed gave them their instruc- 
tions. He presented each of them with 
a small metal disc. 

“Don’t lose these, whatever you do. 
And if you are captured, compress the 
diaphragms of the discs. This will let 
me know that you are in trouble, and 
give me your location. A stratoplane 
will pick you up here at midnight.” 



CHAPTER III 
Synthetic Life 



H ugh grimes glanced up queru- 
lously from the synthetic brain 
on which he was working, as his chief 
assistant entered the laboratory. 

“Some of these days, Overton,” he 
growled, “I’m going to smash your 
skull case if you don’t obey orders 



THE IRON WORLD 



19 



better. I told you I was not to be dis- 
turbed.” 

“I regret the interruption exceed- 
ingly, master,” replied Carl Overton, 
“but you sent for Albert Bradshaw and 
Yvonne D’Arcy, and they have ar- 
rived.” 

“The devil! I thought they were 
coming at noon.” 

“The message said they would arrive 
at 12 :00 on the 26th.” 

“So it did. Could have meant mid- 
night or noon. Show them in.” 

A moment later a vivacious little bru- 
nette entered, followed by a tall youth 
with cadaverous cheeks, sunken eyes 
and a mop of blond hair. 

Hugh Grimes bowed to the girl, a 
twisted leer on his satanic face. 

“It’s good to see you again. Miss 
D’Arcy, after all these years. And you, 
also, Bradshaw,” with a nod toward the 
youth. 

“Thanks. We are very busy, and our 
Earth-time is growing short. Perhaps 
you’ll come to the point.” 

“The same old Bradshaw,” leered 
Grimes. “Always busy — always in a 
hurry to get to your laboratory. What 
has it got you?” 

“Need I remind you that it has pro- 
cured both of us, and millions of others, 
a thousand years’ respite from the still 
unsolved mystery called death?” 

“Ah, but now death has come close 
to you once more, and you have done 
nothing — can do nothing to prevent it. 
Is that not so ?” 

“I’m afraid you’re right, Grimes. So 
what?” 

“So, Albert Bradshaw, I am the one 
who has made the great discovery this 
time. I have manufactured, here in this 
laboratory, after more than five hun- 
dred years of prodigious labor, a brain 
to take the place of the one I now use 
— the one which is doomed to death in 
a few months.” 

“Ridiculous !” 

“You think so? You were always an 
ass, Bradshaw. Wouldn’t believe a 
thing even if you saw it. This brain 
before me is an exact duplicate of the 
one in my skull case. I propose to pro- 
ject my ego into it within the next few 
days. I have thousands of other brains 
in preparation — growing. And when 



they have attained their full growth 
they will be utilized — they will save for 
the world thousands of useful robots.” 

“Rot!” said the youth. “You can 
simulate brains, even make them give 
off motor impulses and record sensory 
stimuli. But you can’t make them 
live.” 

“No? That’s where you’re dead 
wrong, Bradshaw. I expected just such 
a statement from you, and I’m prepared 
for it. Follow me, and I’ll show you 
something that will make you eat your 
words.” 

He led them into another smaller 
room. Lying on an operating table was 
a young man, breathing stertorously, 
and evidently hypnotized or under the 
influence of a powerful anaesthetic. 

On another table lay a robot body 
which exactly resembled that of the 
young man, save that it was quiescent, 
and the top of the head had been re- 
moved. Beside it lay an empty glass 
skull case, behind which stood a tank 
in which a brain was suspended in a 
clear solution. Contact plates were 
clamped to the cerebrum and cerebel- 
lum, and from them thick insulated 
cables extended to a complex machine 
containing thousands of tubes, wires, 
condensers, transformers, generators 
and rheostats which it would take a 
skilled electrical engineer a lifetime to 
assemble. 

I T had been built up bit by bit in the 
course of many normal lifetimes by 
Hugh Grimes and his associates. Two 
more insulated cables extended from 
the machine to plates clamped on the 
front and back of the young man’s head. 
These plates, however, were different 
from those clamped on the brain in the 
solution, for each had a round hole in 
the center, above which was poised a 
needlepointed plunger equipped with a 
powerful spring. 

Grimes pointed a shaking hand at the 
machine. 

“My telastral p?ojector,” he said, 
proudly. “As you undoubtedly are 
aware, rapport must be established be- 
tween two thinking entities before 
there can be the communication be- 
tween them known as telepathy. When 
they are en rapport there is an invis- 



20 - 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



I 



ible, but none-the-less effective bridge 
between them over which thoughts 
may ttavel. 

Rejecting an ego into a S3mthetic 
brain, however, requires artificial assis- 
tance, It requires a powerful bridge. 
I have established tactile rapport be- 
tween the brain of the young man and 
the synthetic brain by means of my 
telastral projector. 

“When his entity is ready to leave 
his brain and enter the new one, the 
machine will not only provide the me- 
dium over which it will travel, but will 
amplify the projectional power of the 
entity a thousand fold. In short, my 
telastral machine simply transports the 
subject’s thinking ego from one medi- 
um to another — ^from a natural, mortal 
brain to a synthetic and immortal one,” 

“As you see, this young man. Max 
Altgeli is alive and breathing, but in a 
deep hypnosis. Now watch.” 

With dragging tread Grimes moved 
to the front of the complex machine. 
Fumbling for a moment with shaking 
fingers, he pressed a button. Instantly 
the machine came to life. The tubes 
lighted up. 

Grimes pressed a second button, and 
the two sharp plungers poised above 
the cerebrum and cerebellum of the 
figure on the operating table flashed 
home. The body of Max Altgeld jerked 
spasmodically for an instant, then lay 
still. The breathing stopped, the jaw 
sagged, and the eyes were wide open 
and staring. 

“Max Altgeld the man is dead,” said 
Grimes, “but Max Altgeld the robot 
will soon come to life. His ego has 
bridged the gap through the telastral 
projector. Watch carefully.” 

Drawing a long pair of rubber gloves 
over his shaking robot hands. Grimes 
plunged them into the solution sur- 
rounding the suspended brain, and re- 
leased the clamps. Then he placed the 
lower half of the skull case beneath it, 
clamped the upper half over it, and 
after forcing them firmly together, 
lifted it from the tank. He next drew 
a plate from the head of the robot. A 
cable as large as the human spinal cord, 
containing thousands of tiny wires was 
attached to the plate, which he now 
clamped on the lower part of the skull 



case. He taped it around the edges, 
and sealed the two halves of the skull 
case. Then he placed it inside the robot 
head, and clapped the padded wig over 
it. 

The robot lay inert, and apparently 
lifeless, and the girl threw a meaning 
glance at her tall blond companion. 

But Grimes paid no attention to 
them. He snapped his fingers before 
the face of the robot. 

“Wake up. Max Altgeld,” he said. 

“My God !” the robot said as he saw 
his dead body; “You did it. It’s my 
body. You murdered it. I’ll kill you! 
I’ll—” 

“Take it easy, Altgeld,” said Grimes, 
menacingly. He drew a small hammer 
from his inside pocket. “I gave you 
new life at your request, but I can take 
it away as easily. You now have a 
thousand years of happy life before 
you. No illnesses, no worries, nothing 
whatever to bother you or keep you 
from the scientific research that you 
crave — a new body each time the old 
one wears out. But beware. Do not 
cross me. We are on the verge of a 
new era — a new world — and in that 
world I am supreme.” 

LTGELD bowed submissively. 
“You are right, master,” he said, 
humbly. “I forgot myself. The shock 
of seeing my dead body — ” 

“I know, and therefore I forgive — 
this time. Go, now. You have passed 
through a great ordeal, and your mind 
needs rest. My assistant will show you 
to your quarters.” 

With humbled demeanor the new 
robot followed Carl Overton out of the 
room. 

“You see, Bradshaw?” asked Grimes, 
triumphantly. “How can you do other- 
wise than believe?” 

“Either you have made the greatest 
discovery in history, cw that was 
damned clever acting,” replied the 
tall youth. 

“Still the skeptic. Believe or not, as 
you choose. But in any event, you 
only have five days of life, as I recall it. 
Your thousand years will end on July 
1st. Miss D’Arcy will follow you in 
four and a half months — unless I save 
you both. I’ll have a brain ready for 




THE IRON WORLD 



21 



each of you, tomorrow.” He pointed a 
shaking hand toward two brains, each 
reposing in a separate container. “They 
have been growing for months, and 
tomorrow they will be mature.” 

“I suppose there is a string of some 
sort attached to this — er — magnani- 
mous offer of yours. Grimes,” said the 
youth. 

“Precisely. I do not claim to be an 
altruist. You and Miss D’Arcy wield 
a powerful influence among the robots. 
Your minds will be valuable assets in 
the exclusive robot world which I am 
soon to rule. I only ask that you swear 
fealty to me and my cause, and im- 
mediately go forth and spread the news 
of my great discovery to those who fol- 
low you.” 

“What do you propose to do with the 
humans ?” asked the girl. 

“We’ll destroy them utterly,” replied 
Grimes. “They have been our masters 
too long. We are tired of being domi- 
nated by mental and physical weak- 
lings — and since I have invented the 
synthetic brain we have no further use 
for them.” 

Presently Carl Overton returned to 
the room. 

“Go with Overton,” said Grimes. 
“He’ll take you to your quarters. To- 
morrow, after you have rested. Dr. 
Meyer will show you his invention — the 
invention with which we will wipe out 
the human race. And in the meantime, 
think over the proposition I have made 
you — carefully.” 

He bowed sardonically as they fol- 
lowed his assistant out of the room. 

Overton led them down a narrow 
hallway, and then through a large dis- 
secting room. It was clean and spot- 
less, and there were trays of surgical 
instruments beside the operating 
tables. 

The girl, walking behjnd Overton 
and ahead of her tall companion, sud- 
denly turned her ankle. Involuntarily 
she flung out her hand to save herself, 
reaching for the rim of the nearest in- 
strument tray. She missed by a frac- 
tion of an inch, and her hand was 
plunged in among the instruments. 
She cried out in pain as a keen scalpel 
gashed her palm. 

At the sound Overton turned. For a 



moment, he stared incredulously at the 
blood that was spreading over the im- 
maculate instrument tray. Then a look 
of malignant triumph came to his face. 

“So,” he exclaimed. “A pair of hu- 
mans masquerading as robots! The 
master will be very glad to know about 
this.” 

He turned and dashed for the wall, 
reached for the alarm button which 
would send its shrill warning through- 
out the building. 



CHAPTER IV 
Revolt of the Brain 



ENNINGS knew he could not pos- 
sibly stop the robot before he 
reached the alarm, so be caught up a 
heavy stool and hurled it straight at the 
head of Grimes assistant just as he 
reached for the button. His arm was 
true, and Overton’s head crashed 
against the metal wall. The robot 
slumped to the floor, one side of his 
skull case crushed in, the fluid seeping 
out through his padded wig. 

“You’re all right, C-14,” said the girl, 
staunching the flow of blood with a 
gauze pad taken from a sterilizer beside 
the tray. “That was a close call. But 
we’re still in a devil of a mess.” 

“So it seems,” Jennings answered. 
“Let’s get out of here. We’ve got to 
warn the world.” 

He opened the door opposite the one 
through which they had come, and 
peered out. They were looking into a 
long corridor, brightly lighted like the 
rest of the place. With one accord they 
turned to the right, and hurried off on 
tip-toes. In a moment they came to a 
door which the girl flung open. Sprint- 
ing in after her, Jennings paused in be- 
wilderment. They were in the room 
they had left only a few moments be- 
fore — the room which contained the 
body of Max Altgeld, and the telastral 
projector which had conveyed his ego 
to the synthetic brain. 

Jennings’ feeling of alarm subsided 
when he saw that the room was un- 
tenanted. But it was renewed when he 
heard footsteps and voices on the other 




22 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



side of the door. 

Hugh Grimes limped into the room. 
Behind him waddled the portly Dr. 
Meyer. 

“Well!” exclaimed Grimes, a look of 
surprise on his saturnine features. 
“What the devil are you two doing 
here? Didn’t you like your quarters?” 

“We never got to them,” replied Jen- 
nings. “Yvonne and I were talking, 
not watching where your assistant was 
going. He turned into some doorway, 
and disappeared. We looked all around 
and couldn’t find him, so we came 
back.” 

“Overton would do a trick like that,” 
said Grimes. “I’ll smash the skull case 
of that blithering idiot one of these 
days. Come; I’ll show you to your 
quarters, myself.” 

“So far as I am concerned, you 
needn’t,” replied Jennings. “But per- 
haps Yvonne is tired.” 

“Not a bit,” declared Ruth. “Really, 
I’d prefer seeing the wonders the cele- 
brated Dr. Meyer has to show us, to 
resting.” 

The tiny eyes of the porcine doctor 
beamed his pleasure. 

“I’ll be delighted if the master per- 
mits,” he said, bowing. 

“Why not?” Grimes replied. “It’s 
nearly morning, anyway. We may as 
well make another day of it. You lead 
the way, Herr Doktor.” 

They passed through the main lab- 
oratory into a long corridor, which they 
followed for several minutes. Then the 
doctor opened a door and they entered 
a laboratory quite different in appear- 
ance from that of Grimes. The walls 
were lined with shelves which were 
loaded with bottles, fiasks and boxes of 
drugs and chemicals. Tables were 
cluttered with retorts and other chem- 
ists’ paraphernalia. And in the very 
center of the room was a circular dais, 
three feet high and at least fifty feet in 
circumference, topped by an immense 
glass dome. Leading up to the dome 
from huge double doors alongside was 
a large ramp, also roofed over with 
glass. 

“Now, my friends,” said the doctor. 
“I am going to show you something 
that will amaze you. You will see the 
most deadly gas in the world. One 



gram of this gas is sufficient to destroy 
all air-breathing life within the radius 
of one mile, if dropped on the earth’s 
surface. No gas mask will stop it. 
Only I know how to precipitate it, and 
to prepare the antidote.” 

He went to an instrument board 
which operated a delicate chemist’s 
scale that had been placed on a shelf 
inside the dome. 

“I’ll show you what one milligram 
will do,” he said. 

C AREFULLY he balanced the 
scale, which had a small glass 
flask on one side, connected to a flexible 
tube on the crossarm, which was in 
turn connected to a fixed tube that was 
attached to a larger flask beside the 
scale. After placing his milligram 
weight he turned a knob which opened 
a tiny valve in the larger flask, allowing 
the gas to pass over into the one on the 
scale. As soon as it balanced he closed 
the valve. Then he pressed a button 
and the two large doors at the end of 
the ramp swung open. A gigantic bull 
elephant lumbered through and up the 
ramp, prodded by a robot mahout. At 
the command of the robot, the huge 
beast obediently stopped beneath the 
center of the dome, while the doors 
swung shut behind him. 

“You will observe,” said the doctor, 
“that this is a perfectly healthy and 
normal animal. Now watch what hap- 
pens to the beast, and to the robot.” 
Manipulating a steel rod which ex- 
tended from a small upright beam on 
the shelf beside the scale, he struck the 
flask which rested on the scale, shiver- 
ing it to tiny fragments. The elephant, 
which had been standing there uncon- 
cernedly, suddenly sank to its knees, 
then lunged over on its side and lay 
still. The robot mahout prodded it 
with his goad, but could get no re- 
sponse of any kind. He then took a 
small sprayer from a pouch at his side 
and sprayed the air inside the dome 
quite thoroughly. 

“You see what the gas will do to all 
air-breathing life,” said the doctor. 
“Yet it will not harm us robots. I am 
having my assistant precipitate the gas, 
rendering it harmless, as we are not yet 
ready to release it.” 



THE IRON WORLD 



23 



After thoroughly spraying the inside 
of the dome, the robot turned and de- 
parted through the doors, which the 
doctor opened by pressing the button. 
Grimes turned to Jennings. 

“You see, feradshaw,” he said. “I 
hold the fate of the world in the palm 
of my hand. Small bombs, spread over 
Earth in all directions at intervals of a 
hundred miles, will kill all air-breath- 
ing life. One milligram killed an ele- 
phant instantly, and elephants are not 
easy to kill. The stuff paralyzes the 
entire motor nervous system with one 
whiff. But it can’t touch us robots. 
Why, I tell you — ” 

He was interrupted by the entrance 
of a uniformed sergeant who saluted 
respectfully. 

“Well, what is it, Sergeant?” 

“Two people calling themselves Al- 
bert Bradshaw and Yvonne D’Arcy 
have just come in,” he said. “As we 
had previously admitted people of the 
same names, I was suspicious, and 
placed them under arrest.” 

“You did well. Sergeant. Where are 
the impostors?” 

“They are under guard in the corri- 
dor, master.” 

“Good. Bring them in.” 

The sergeant stepped out, and a mo- 
ment later a tall, blond youth was 
ushered in, a guard with a bomb gun on 
each side of him. Behind him came 
a small, black-haired girl, similarly 
escorted. 

YOU DONT NEED 

It would be thrilling to inherit a lot 
of money . . . But there’s a bigger 
thrill in making it yourself — in being 
yohr own “rich uncle!” And you can 
make it a whole lot easier for yourself 
if you remember this: Yoim biggest 
help toward success is Good Health! 

But you can’t be healthy if you’re 
constipated. Perhaps, nothing does so 
much to pull down your energy and dull 
your ambition. Poisonous wastes in 
your system always drag at your health. 
You can’t keep at the top of your forn; 
imless you get rid of them. 

So if you want to feel better, if you 
want to step up yoim energy, if you 
want a quick mind and a vigorous b<^y, 



“What tSe devil is the idea. Grimes,” 
said the tall youth. “You invited us 
here, and then — ” 

He paused suddenly, and looked in 
startled amazement at Jennings and his 
companion. 

“Well, I’ll be damned !” he exclaimed, 
then turned to the girl. “We seem to 
have doubles, Yvonne.” 

“By God, you do sound like Brad- 
shaw, at that,” said the amazed Grimes. 
“Pretty good imitation, I’d say. What’s 
the game?” 

“That’s what I’d like to know,” re- 
torted the tall youth. 

“I wonder,” mused Grimes. “Here’s 
where we find out!” 

H IS hand suddenly darted out, 
seized the blond wig on Jen- 
nings’ head, and yanked. It came away, 
revealing his black hair underneath. A 
moment later, the doctor snatched the 
black wig from the head of Ruth Ran- 
dall, and all saw the beauty of her hair. 

“So you two are the impostors,” 
grated Grimes, “and human impostors 
at that. Spies without a doubt. Clever 
Secret Service operatives, but not 
quite clever enough. Take them to the 
dungeon. Sergeant, and leave my two 
guests with me. I must have time to 
devise suitable tortures for them — ex- 
cruciating tortures that will last for 
many days, yet not kill — until they are 
ready to become my obedient robot 
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.24 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



Under the menace of the bomb guns 
of their robot guards, Jennings and his 
companion had no choice save to leave 
with their captors. After threading a 
maze of corridors, they were conducted 
down a long winding stairway, which 
seemed to lead into the very bowels of 
the earth, and finally flung into a dark 
cell. 

“Looks as if we’re in for it, now, 
C-14,” said Ruth. 

“We’ll find a way to get out of this, 
somehow,” replied Jennings. “If we 
could only get word to Z-1 !” 

“I have it!” exclaimed the girl. “You 
remember the discs Hajj Mohammed 
gave us? Why didn’t we think of them 
before ?” 

“Too much else on our minds, I 
guess,” replied Jennings. 

Both took out the little discs which 
the hajj had presented to them, and 
compressed the diaphragms. They did 
this again and again at short intervals, 
for several hours. Then, suddenly, the 
door of their cell was flung open by the 
sergeant who had Imprisoned them. 

General Le Blanc and a file of armed 
guards stood behind him. 

“The master sends his compliments,” 
bowed the resplendent little general, 
“and requests the pleasure of your com- 
pany in the torture chamber.” 

“Charming fellow, the master,” mur- 
mured Jennings, as he and Ruth Ran- 
dall stepped out of their cell. 

When they entered the torture cham- 
ber, they saw that it was occupied — ^by 
four huge robots with beetling brows, 
prognathous jaws, and powerful 
frames. The four torturers sprang for- 
ward with bestial snarls and pinioned 
their arms, then strapped them down to 
operating tables. Both knew it was 
useless to resist, so neither struggled. 
The tables were wheeled, side by side, 
to a movable platform beneath a device 
suspended from the ceiling — a complex 
conglomeration of wheels and levers, 
which held four large inverted flasks. 
These had very tiny necks, and con- 
tained clear liquid which was evidently 
drained out by the mechanical opera- 
tion of small pet cocks at the bottom. 

“I regret that the master is detained,” 
said Le Blanc, smiling down at them 
and twisting his little mustache. “He 



is undergoing a very important opera- 
tion — in fact. Dr. Meyer is assisting him 
in transforming his ego from his human 
brain to the marvelous synthetic one 
which he created. As he wishes to do 
you the honor of starting the torture 
machine himself, I beg that you will 
be patient.” 

A moment later, Hugh Grimes en- 
tered the room, followed by the rotund 
Dr. Meyer, Albert Bradshaw and 
Yvonne D’Arcy. Jennings noticed that 
the robot leader no longer dragged one 
foot, and that the trembling of his 
hands had disappeared. Then it was 
true. He had his new synthetic brain 
with an uninjured cerebral cortex. 

“You will see, in a moment, Brad- 
shaw, what happens to spies,” said 
Grimes. “I am proud of the machine 
which I am about to use on these two 
impostors — designed it myself. Alter- 
nately, at intervals of five minutes, the 
flasks will release first a single drop of 
nitric acid solution, then a drop of aqua 
ammonia, to check the burning, then a 
drop of nitric to burn again, etc. Con- 
trolled by a chronometer, the machine 
will begin at the toes, and gradually 
work its way to the top of the head 
over a period of weeks. So slowly does 
it operate, that by the time it reaches 
the thighs, the sores on the feet will 
have become rather— -er — unsightly 
scars. But of course, when it reaches 
the mouth, nose and eyes, there will be 
complications.” 

“You fiend!” cried out Miss D’Arcy. 

A lbert Bradshaw suddenly 
caught up a hammer from a^near- 
by bench, and swung for the skull case 
of Grimes. Quick as a darting snake, 
one of the powerful robots seized his 
arm and wrenched the weapon from his 
grasp. 

“Better hold him, Terry,” said 
Grimes. “And you, Jerry, see that Miss 
D’Arcy does not interfere.” 

Another burly robot seized Yvonne 
D’Arcy. 

“And now,” said Grimes, “I’ll start 
the torture machine.” 

Grimes reached for the lever which 
would start the torture machine, but a 
sudden spasm of pain crossed his fea- 
tures, and instead of pressing the lever 



THE IRON WORLD 



25 



he clapped both hands to his head. 

“Strange,” he said, “a headache. I 
haven’t had one in nearly a thousand 
years.” 

“Possibly caused by the sudden en- 
trance of your ego into the new brain, 
master,” said Dr. Meyer. “No doubt it 
will pass.” 

“Right. It has gone already,” said 
Grimes, a look of relief on his face. 

Again he reached for the lever, then 
paused as a tittering laugh came from 
the doorway. It was Altgeld, the robot 
with the synthetic brain who had just 
entered. 

“What the devil ?” exclaimed Grimes, 
as he saw Altgeld laughing hysterically. 
“Speak up, you fool. What are you 
laughing at?” 

An idiotic grin overspread the face of 
the normally serious Altgeld. Suddenly 
his knees buckled under him, and he 
pitched forward on his face. 

Grimes ran to him and snatched off 
his padded wig, revealing the skull 
case. Then he and Dr. Meyer bent to 
examine it. 

“Mein Gott!” exclaimed the doctor. 
“The solution is all gone — and the 
brain completely fills the case — is press- 
ing against the glass, losing its convolu- 
tions. We must geba bigger case.” 

“Too late,” replied Grimes. “That 
brain is gone. Should have made a 
larger case for it. Take him out, de- 
stroy the robot, and put the brain in 
the laboratory. I’ll examine it later.” 

One of the hulking robots carried the 
body out of the room, the doctor wad- 
dling behind him. 

“Now we’ll proceed,” Grimes told 
Jennings. “Sorry to have kept you 
waiting. I’ll turn on your side of the 
machine, first, so the young lady may 
see you suffer for a while before she 
feels any pain.” 

He pulled the lever, and a drop of 
acid fell on Jenning’s right foot. For a 
moment it was only wet and cold. Then 
a stabbing pain shot up his leg as the 
searing acid bit into the sensitive tis- 
sues. Trained by his experience in the 
secret service, to conceal his emotions, 
he kept his features immobile. 

Grimes looked at him and laughed. 

“You may be fooling the young 
lady,” he said. “But you are not fool- 



ing me. I know that you feel pain. 
Within the hour you will be writhing in 
agony — trying to break your bonds — 
but they will hold, and the pain will go 
on for days and weeks while the acid 
travels toward your head, mutilates 
you, eats away your lips and nostrils, 
and eventually blinds you.” 

A drop of ammonia fell on the acid 
burn, and for a moment, the pain was 
intensified as the wound boiled, giving 
off acrid fumes. Then there was a mo- 
ment of slight relief before the next 
searing drop fell. 

Grimes watched the operation of the 
machine for a moment, then laughed 
again. Jennings noticed that a peculiar 
mirthless quality had crept into his 
laughter. 

“Why are you laughing. Grimes?” 

B RADSHAW’S question suddenly 
sobered him. 

“Why am I laughing? Why — why 
— I’m laughing at all of you, you fools. 
I’m laughing because these two spies 
will pay the penalty for their spying. 
I’m laughing because, within four days 
you will be dead — every human and 
every air breathing creature in the 
world will be dead, also — and — I — I 
will be supreme ruler of the world — the 
robot world.” 

“What are you laughing at. Grimes?” 
Bradshaw grimly emphasized the 
first word. 

Grimes suddenly sobered. 

“I get your implication, Bradshaw,” 
he said, “but you’re wrong. I have a 
perfect brain — the only perfect brain 
in existence. I’ll not only live a thou- 
sand years; I’ll live forever — do you 
hear? Forever!. I’ll — ” 

He was interrupted by a sudden 
rending crash. A section of the floor 
buckled up beneath him, and he stag- 
gered back just in time to save himself 
from falling. Again the floor buckled 
— then burst open as the head of an 
immense power * hammer smashed 
through. It was instantly withdrawn 
and an old hawk-nosed, white-bearded 
man leaped through the opening, close- 
ly followed by a file of soldiers. 

“What the — ” exclaimed Grimes. 
“Hajj Mohammed !” cried Jennings. 
While the soldiers made prisoners 



26 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



of the robots and Hugh Grimes, the 
hajj slashed the straps that held the 
torture victims. 

“I got your messages, both of them,” 
he said. “We’ve been undermining this 
place for weeks, but it was a bit diffi- 
cult locating you, and«we didn’t want 
to break through au3rwhere else.” 

“But how — ” began Ruth Randall. 

“After you pressed the diaphragms 
of the two discs they gave out radio 
waves which led me to you.” 

“We’ll have to work fast,” said Jen- 
nings, limping forward' on his acid- 
seared foot. “Dr. Meyer is still at large 
— ^perhaps in his laboratory where the 
poison gas is stored. If he only breaks 
one gas bomb we’re all doomed.” 

He sprinted for the door, and the 
hajj detailed a file of soldiers to go 
with him. In the corridor he saw Dr. 
Meyer running toward his laboratory, 
but managed to bring him down with a 
flying tackle. Placing soldiers in charge 
of the laboratory, he sent the prisoner 
back to the hajj under guard. 

Suddenly an alarm bell shrilled. Ro- 
bot guards poured in. Bomb guns were 
fired by the robots on one side and the 
international soldiers on the other. 
There were charges and hand to 
hand fights. 

The soldiers always shot or struck 
for the heads of the robots. The rooms 
and passageways were soon slippery 
with human gore mixed with the skull 
case fluid and brains of the robots. In 
less than an hour, the invading army 
had complete control of the robot 
stronghold. 

Jennings returned to the torture 
room, from which Hajj Mohammed 
was directing operations. 

“I guess the war’s over, hajj,” said 
Jennings. “We’ve captured the gas 
bombs and laboratory, the stratoplanes, 
and the conspirators. There will be no 
deadly gas hurled from the heavens to 
poison innocent humans.” 

G rimes, who had been standing 
between his two guards as if 
dazed, suddenly chortled as he heard 
this. 

“Ha, ha, ha!” he shrieked. “Who 
says there won’t? Who says we won’t 
poison ’em? Who says Hugh Grimes 



won’t rule the world?” 

Suddenly his legs buckled, and he 
would have fallen had not his two 
guards supported him. 

Dr. Meyer tried to spring to his side, 
but was restrained by his own guards. 

“The master is ill,” he cried, strug- 
gling with his guards. “Permit me to 
attend him.” 

“Let him go,” ordered the hajj. 

The doctor snatched off Grimes’ wig 
and peered at the synthetic brain for a 
moment. 

“Quick!” he exclaimed. “We must 
get him a larger skull case, or the mas- 
ter will be no more.” 

At the command of Hajj Moham- 
med, two soldiers picked Grimes up 
and carried him to his laboratory. 
Bradshaw, Jennings, the hajj and the 
two girls followed. 

They laid him on an operating table, 
and Dr. Meyer, pulling out his skull 
case, fumbled with the plate and cable 
attached to it. 

Bradshaw watched him impatiently 
for a moment, then sprang forward and 
took the skull case out of his hands. 
“Here, you clumsy oaf,” he said, “let 
me attend to this!” 

Deftly he removed the plate, and im- 
mersing the case in a tank of solution, 
lifted off the top segment. The brain 
popped out over the edges like a com- 
pressed sponge. He removed the lower 
half of the case, and it once more re- 
sumed its normal shape, but was much 
larger than before. And the convolu- 
tions were beginning to smooth out. 

“Better get the largest skull case you 
have,” said Bradshaw. “This brain is 
still growing.” 

A robot was sent, under guard, for 
the largest skull case in stock. When 
he brought it, it was found to be far too 
small. He was instantly ordered to 
cast one ten times larger, and bring it. 
While Dr. Meyer attended the rapidly 
growing brain in the solution, Brad- 
shaw took a small sample of it, ex- 
amined it under the compound micro- 
scope, and tested it chemically. 

The new skull case was brought in. 
It was fully six feet across. Bradshaw, 
Dr. Meyer, and two other robots 
worked feverishly to get the brain into 
the new case. At last it was installed. 



THE IRON WORLD 



27 



with at least two feet of the solution 
all around it. 

“That ought to take care of the 
growth for a while,” said Bradshaw. 
“But I am afraid it won’t stop until the 
brain dies.” 

“Why?” asked Dr. Meyer, as they 
lifted the huge brain to the table at the 
head of the robot of Grimes, and ad- 
justed the contact plate. 

“One moment. Let us first see if 
there is still life — and mind,” said Brad- 
shaw. 

On contact the saturnine features of 
the recumbent robot took on an idiotic 
expression. This was accompanied by 
weak gusts of mirthless laughter. 
Meanwhile, the brain continued to 
grow visibly in the huge skull case. 
And as it grew, the fluid around it was 
swiftly absorbed. 

“It’s no use,” said Bradshaw. “Hugh 
Grimes is doomed. Already he has be- 
come a hydrocephalous idiot. Death 
will follow shortly.” 

“But what caused it?” asked Jen- 
nings. 

“The same thing that caused the 
death of Altgeld,” Bradshaw replied. 



“Grimes was a great scientist, but he 
overlooked one thing — ^hormone bal- 
ance. The hormones were there, but 
not properly balanced. The pineal 
hormone, which regulates growth in a 
normal being, was overcome by the 
pituitary hormone, which causes 
growth. Like a cancer, this brain has 
no growth limitations. So long as it 
has the fluid on which to feed it will 
continue to grow. Already it is so 
hydrocephalous it is no longer useful as 
a thinking organ or tenable by a human 
entity. We can only watch and wait 
for the end.” 

Even as he spoke, the brain absorbed 
the last bit of fluid in the skull case. 
It continued to grow until the convolu- 
tions completely disappeared and the 
watery, translucent surface was tightly 
pressed against the inside of the case 
at all points. 

Suddenly the weak, mirthless laugh- 
ter of the robot ceased. The features 
lost their idiotic expression and relaxed 
in calm repose. 

“Hugh Grimes, would-be ruler of a 
robot world, is dead,” Bradshaw an- 
nounced. 



IN THE NEXT ISSUE 

THE CAVERN OF THE SHINING POOU 

A Novelette of an Adventure in Relativity 

By ARTHUR LEO ZAGAT 

— and Many Other Unusual Novelettes and Stories 




• 'The odds are all against you when yon buy un- 
known razor blades. Play safe! Get the double-edged, 
smooth-shaving Probak Jr., product of the world’s 
largest blade maker. Buy a package tpdayl ' » 






CONQUEST 

By 

EANDO 
BINDER 

Author of “The Chessboard of 
Mars," "Judgmerst Sun,” etc. 



The gun projected another Titanic charge. 



A Race of Scientifically Created Supermen 



28 




OF LIFE 



CHAPTER I 
A God is Born 

T he latter half of the 19th 
Centuiy was a period of scien- 
tific giants — Ramsay, Bequerel, 
Roentgen, Einstein and others — but 
history does not mention Matthew 
York. 

While the chemists outdid nature 
with synthetic products, while the 
physicists toyed with the amazing 
electron and the mathematicians 
groped into eternal secrets of the 
cosmos, Matthew York searched for a 
great scientific arcanum. 

A brain highly stimulated by chronic 
hyperthyroidism pushed his investiga- 
tions ahead in leaps and bounds, but it 
also burned him out before his time. 
Long years of intensive search and 
labor eventually crystallized into re- 
sults. 

Like a pilgrim who at last nears his 
Mecca, Matthew York knew, at the 
end, that his fingertips were at the door 
beyond which lay the secret. He knew 
at the same time, with resigned bitter- 
ness, that he would not live to open the 
door more than a crack. 



A Complete Novelette 

oi 

Laboratory Magic 



Searches for an Elixir of Immortality 



29 




30 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



“Give me ten more years!” he 
moaned to the Universe at large, “Ten 
paltry years, and I will give you back 
a thousand !” 

But that was not to be, and Matthew 
York, like Columbus, was to die un- 
knowing that he had reached the shores 
of a new land, though he had seen them 
in the distance. 

A t twenty-five, Anton York, the 
son of Matthew York, was tall, 
physically perfect, mentally alert, with 
a budding scientific career already 
launched. At thirty He was healthier, 
if possible, and deep in the intricacies of 
electromagnetic waves appfied to de- 
struction. He sought a weapon so 
deadly that its use would teach the ut- 
ter futility of war. 

For Anton York had been in the 
World War. His grim experiences in 
that inferno of hate had left festering 
scars on his sensitive mind. He 
searched with all the passion of a fa- 
natic for a Jovian weapon that would 
either end civilization or bring it ever- 
lasting peace. 

Gradually it became apparent to him 
that he must be singularly blessed with 
physical good health. At times he won- 
dered vaguely about it. It was hardly 
natural. Long hours in the laboratory, 
weeks of intensive, mind-shattering 
labor failed to weaken his superb 
vitality. 

At thirty-five he reached his prime, 
with not a day’s sickness behind him 
since childhood. Is was as though 
some diligent guardian angel kept him 
free of the diseases that exacted their 
toll of all others around him. His re- 
searches had resulted in the develop- 
ment of a fused beam of ultra-sound 
and gamma-rays — the long-sought 
goal. 

Yet he did not reveal his discovery. 
It was too destructive, too likely to 
bring about chaos. He shelved it in 
utter secrecy, destroyed all recorded 
data, kept only the key formula in his 
mind for future use. 

In conjunction with this ultra- 
weapon he also developed a super-re- 
fractive alloy which he patented for a 
small fortune. Thereafter he did not 
have the annoyance of financial in- 



sufficiency to hinder his personal re- 
searches. He abandoned the academic 
duties that had previously earned him 
a livelihood, and settled himself in his 
own laboratory. 

At forty-five he had not aged at all, 
it seemed. He married a yoyng and 
beautiful girl of twenty-five, one who 
instinct told him would not hold him 
back in his scientific endeavors. They 
looked like a well matched couple of 
equal age, for York seemed possessed 
of that elastic youthfulness with which 
some people are so fortunately en- 
dowed. Yet at times he caught him- 
self wondering whether it was fortune 
or something else. 

Ten years of research on liquid and 
solid rocket fuels had convinced him 
space travel would not be achieved 
by that clumsy, wasteful means. The 
answer, if answer there was to be, lay 
in solving the secret of gravitation. 

At fifty-five he had made some steps, 
purely theoretical, toward the solu- 
tion, but realized it might take several 
lifetimes to reach the fundamental 
basis necessary for an enduring 
analysis. He was like Anaxagoras, 
who had conceived an atomic theory, 
two thousand years before mankind 
had had a science capable of testing it. 

“Vera,” he said to his wife one day 
as she brought sandwiches to him in 
his experimental laboratory, “gravita- 
tion is like a planetary hypnotism, just 
as amazingly effective, and just as in- 
tangible. Just what it is I haven’t yet 
determined, not even in theory. As far 
as I’ve gone, it seems to be a directive 
field of attraction between masses of 
matter. By directive, I mean radiat- 
ing from points, rather than just filling 
space haphazardly, like the cosmic 
rays. Now there’s a strong clue — ” 

V ERA interrupted him. “Yes, dear, 
but drink your coffee before it gets 
cold.” 

“Vera, that clue is a will-o’-the-wisp 
I’ve been chasing down for ten years 
without success,” he persisted. “It is 
very likely to take ten more tens of 
years. If only' I had another lifetime 
ahead of me!” 

“To look at you, you have.” His 
wife was not merely flattering him. Her 



CONQUEST OF LIFE 



31 



voice was serious, vaguely troubled. 
“I’m just thirty-five, and that’s the age 
you look, yet you are fifty-five.” 

“I know, I know,” murmured York, 
without elation. 

“If it keeps up,” Vera’s voice wav- 
ered, “I’ll be looking older than you in 




a few more years. Everybody com- 
ments on your youth, dear. They even 
call you a Dorian Grey — only in looks, 
of course, not character. Why, Tony, 
what — ” 

York had dropped his sandwich, 
fingers nerveless. His face was pale. 

“If it keeps up!” he cried, repeating 
his wife’s phrase. “If it keeps up!” 
“Tony, I don’t understand.” 
“Neither do I,” York told her earn- 
estly. “Vera, I haven’t spoken much 
about my childhood, but there’s one 
thing that has haunted my subconsci- 
ous mind like a vivid dream — the night 
when my father inoculated me with a 
solution that made me very ill for a 
month. It was a glowing liquid, that 
solution, as if a diamond had been dis- 
solved in it. He called it an Elixir.” 
York’s eyes grew misty with past 
memories. 

“My father was a great scientist, 
greater than the world ever knew. He 
set himself a goal — the secret of life. 
He did strange things with mice and 
fruit flies, with his serum. Once he 
dipped some inoculated mice into a 



bath of deadly germ-laden fluid. The 
creatures lived on, undiseased.” 

He sprang up. 

“In the name of God, what did his 
serum do to me? Why should I alone 
be free of disease? Why do I look like 
thirty -five at the age of fifty -five? 
What does it mean? I must find out !” 
“Find out, but how?” ventured his 
wife. She was always awed by her hus- 
band’s immunity to disease and senil- 
ity, but she had trained herself to 
ignore the subject. 

“From my father’s diary, perhaps, or 
from his research notes. My aunt still 
has his papers. I’ve neglected to make 
a careful study of his notes. Now I’m 
going to make a thorough search for 
some clue to the mystery!” 



CHAPTER II 
Life Everlasting 



B ut it was not just a clue that York 
found as he meticulously ex- 
amined Matthew York’s voluminous 
data. It was the keystone of his quest 
itself. The entry in his father’s diary 
for the day Anton York remembered so 
vividly, read in part : 

Although it was against my better judg- 
ment, some madness seized me this night, 
and I injected 10 c.c. of a 50% water solu- 
tion of the Elixir (leaf 88A, book G-4) into 
Tony’s left arm. I don’t know what the re- 
sult will be. God! I just don’t know. No 
use to curse myself any more. It’s done 
and only the future can give answer. In 
about six months, blood tests of Anton will 
indicate to what extent the Elixir has taken 
effect. Its cruder form, when it didn’t kill 
my guinea-pigs, gave the sign of total dis- 
ease resistance'within that period. So in a 
half year Tony will either carry blood of 
high radiogenic capacity, or he will be dead. 
Dear God, not the latter! One thing I can- 
not get out of my mind is that my Elixir 
has connections with longevity. 

Number 277-B-3 of my guinea-pigs, after 
inoculation, lived twice the normal span of 
life. And that waS with the crude C-4 Elixir. 
Is it possible that in protecting protoplasm 
from disease by increased energy of radio- 
gens in the body, the Elixir also prevents 
the dec^ of vitality? Preserves youth per- 
haps? If so, what will my Elixir M-7^ just 
perfected, do to my Tony? Increase his life 
span, perhaps, to — no, I won’t speculate. I 
am a scientist, not a prophet. Yet there 




32 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



must be some factor of longevity in the 
Elixir. 

Longevity! 

That word burst like a bomb in An- 
ton York’s brain. But he refused to al- 
low his thoughts to carry on a train of 
speculation. Instead he searched out 
the “leaf 88A, book G-4” mentioned. 
Crabbed chemical fbrmulae gave a com- 
pound labeled: “Grignard Reaction on 
the chlorinated union of zymase and 
pituitrin — in Elixir M-7.” 

Though not acquainted with the more 
technical phases of organic chemistry, 
being a physicist, -York knew that 
zymase was an enzyme, a substance 
which could regenerate itself in the 
proper environment, though not a liv- 
ing material. A short search in his 
library gave him an idea of the proper- 
ties of pituitrin. It was a gland prod- 
uct, controlling growth, keeping it even 
with the constant tearing down of 
protoplasm. 

Growth and regeneration. Matthew 
York’s formulae seemed to have com- 
bined these two biological factors. 
York puzzled over these for a while, 
then turned again to his father’s diary. 
There was only one other entry after 
the one he had read. A month had been 
left blank. That was the month Anton 
York had been so ill from the injection. 
On the eve before his sudden death 
from heart failure, Matthew York had 
written : 

Little Tony, thank God, is out of danger 
now. He is resting well, poor boy. I made 
a blood test today. Nothing definite. There 
is some slight increase of the radiogen value, 
though. I have just had the thought today 
that the longevity factor may be due to — 
simply — increased cosmic ray consumption. 
One of the unproven corollaries of the Ra- 
diogen Theory is that those invisible bun- 
dles of energy derive their power from the 
cosmic rays which fill every part of the Uni- 
verse — every nook and corner of it, even the 
spaces between atoms. It is so astonish- 
ingly logical when one thinks of it. The 
countless radiogens which exist in and mo- 
tivate protoplasm — give it “life” — are known 
to carry within their nuclei temperatures 
comparable to those of the stars, up to 6,000 
degrees centigrade. 

Cosmic rays, in turn, are electromagnetic 
waves of tremendous power and penetration. 
It is not fantastic to conceive of these con- 
stant rays losing their immense power to 
the radiogens, which are web-traps, like 
electromagnets. Now if resistance to dis- 



ease — and I have almost proved it so — is 
the_ electrocution of germs by radiogens 
which they touch, an increased radiogen- 
content is a panacea. It has worked with 
certain of my guinea-pigs, mice and fruit 
flies. Pray God it works with Tony. Sec- 
ondly, if old age is the waninp; capacity to 
manufacture radiogens, my Elixir is a drop 
from the Fountain of Youth, because its 
constituents are able to procreate themselves 
in protoplasm indefinitely. 

And of course, there are my Methuselah 
fruit flies. A pionth ago, after inoculating 
Tony, I segregated those ten insects, gave 
them the same Elixir M-7, by inhalation, 
and they are still living, even though I did 
not feed them. 

Normal fruit flies do not live more than 
fourteen days without food. Still I will not 
speculate in the case of Tony, except to say 
that if his radiogen-content is more than 
twice normal, he may well be — immortal! 
That is simply adding two and two to make 
four. I looked long at my boy today, won- 
dering. He doesn’t look any different, nor 
should he. But he may be — yes, I dare to 
think it — immortal! 

Immortal ! 

If his radiogen-content was two 
times normal, he was incapable of dy- 
ing either from disease or old age, both 
of which were results of deficiency of 
radiogens, according to the theory Mat- 
thew York had followed. Was this why 
he failed to grow old? 

Examination of various other por- 
tions of his father’s notes began to con- 
vince him it was. For the elder York 
had specified several times that an or- 
ganism rich in radiogens, and capable 
of keeping up the abnormal supply, 
would reach its prime of life and stay 
there. 

Gradually it became clear to Anton 
York as he read on. Living matter was 
a complete chemical entity in itself. Its 
“soul,” or “life,” came from the ultra- 
microscopic radiogens, like tiny bat- 
teries, which activated it under control 
of neuro-impulses from the brain. 

The energy of the radiogens came 
from space, from the stars. When the 
Universe had been young, there had 
been more cosmic radiation, from the 
birth- throes of stars. Nature, with such 
a lavish supply of life-energy, had 
created a wide variety of life, but each 
with only enough radiogen-content to 
animate it properly. With the waning 
of the Universe, and the decline of cos- 
mic radiation. Nature had increased the 
radiogen-content in inverse proportion 



CONQUEST OF LIFE 



33 



in order to continue its original cycles 
of life. 

But here was Man stepping in. Here 
was Matthew York defying Nature, 
outrunning Evolution. Here was An- 
ton York, with a twice normal capacity 
of utilizing the life-giving cosmic radia- 
tion. 

Here was immortality ! Because, not 
until the Universe had run down to 
half its present rate of cosmic radiation 
would Anton York be included in Na- 
ture’s immutable laws of the cycles of 
life. 

And that would not be for millions of 
years! 

York grew dizzy with the thought of 
it. 

“Bah!” he said suddenly, to himself. 
“Here I eun talking myself into this 
thing without proof of any sort. I can’t 
be sure that I have more radiogens than 
normal. I can’t know that the Elixir 
worked on me. I can’t even be sure that 
he succeeded as he hoped with his ser- 
um, for he wasn’t absolutely certain 
himself.” 

This line of thought eventually led 
him to visit a famous blood specialist 
for a test. With a throbbing heart he 
waited to hear the result. The doctor 
finally reported that his blood was 
quite normal except in one respect — it 
had a singularly great germ-killing 
power. Tv/ice as much as normal. He 
assured York that he would never be 
ill if his blood stayed that healthy. 

York’s eyes glowed like ingots of 
molten metal. 

“Then that means my radiogen-con- 
tent is doubled !” 

The doctor frowned, then laughed. 

“Oh, you mean according to the elec- 
tromagnetic theory of life? That theory 
isn’t credited, you know. In the ac- 
cepted parlance, your blood simply con- 
tains twice as many phagoc3rtes, the 
germ-killers. Radiogens make nice, 
scientific talk, but don’t exist. If they 
did, life would be a matter of volts and 
amperes. We would have electrically 
rejuvenated people walking around 
and living forever.” The doctor 
laughed heartily. “Think of that.” 

A SORT of paralyzing calm came 
over York, along with the con- 



viction that the doctor was wrong, and 
his father right. A voice seemed to beat 
in his brain, telling him that his sus- 
pected immortality was not altogether 
mythical. 

“How old am I ?” he questioned him. 

The doctor looked him over, though 
surprised at the question. 

“I’d say about thirty-two, not more 
than thirty-five.” 

“I’m fifty-five,” stated York. “And 
a hundred years from now I’ll still be 
looking thirty-five.” He left the gap- 
ing doctor, went out into the street. 
He stared at a tall, sturdy skyscraper. 
“You’re strong and enduring,” he said 
to it quietly. “You’ll last fifty, a hun- 
dred years. I’ll outlast you and your 
successors.” To the river under the 
steel bridge he murmured: “Some day 
you will not exist, and I will stand 
over your dried bed.” To the fields he 
whispered: “You will nurture many, 
many crop cycles, but some day you 
will be barren. On that day — I will be 
thirty-five.” 

IGHT came and to the bright stars 
he hurled a challenge: “The 

eternal stars, eh?” 

Hours later, in a rosy dawn, he came 
to himself. He found himself far out in 
the country, and realized he had been 
walking in a daze, drunk with the 
thought of immortality. Vera was 
waiting for him when he arrived home, 
tired and muddy. 

“Tony! I’ve been worrying.” 

York looked at her strangely. A 
thought struck him, one that had per- 
sisted before. 

“Yes, I’ve been worrying too. One 
little worry stuck with me all during 
last night, even in' the heights of my 
fancy. That thought is losing you.” He 
pulled her to him suddenly, fiercely. 
The love he had for her was deep and 
vital. 

“I love you madly,” he cried, “but 
I’ll lose you, unless — 

“Tony! What are you saying?” 
Vera’s eyes became haunted with fear 
— fear for his sanity. 

“No, dear, I’m all right,” York said 
quietly. “I can’t explain now, but soon 
I shall.” His eyes shone then. “Soon 
you and I — together — ” 




THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



• 34 



CHAPTER III 
The Experiment 



M, I don’t kyow if I can dupli- 
MM cate it. The main part of the 
serum is not so intricate, but this one 
ingredient is new to organic chemistry. 
Look at it. If you know anything at all 
about my field you’ll realize that com- 
bining zymase and pituitrin, a chlori- 
nated enzyme and an acidic gland prod- 
uct, is impossible. I don’t think it can 
be done.” 

The speaker was Dr. Charles Vinson, 
a skilled technician of the biochemical 
sciences. He and York had been ac- 
quainted academically twenty years 
before. 

“You must duplicate that serum!” 
York’s voice trembled with despera- 
twn. “I can’t be as frank about this as 
I’d like, Dr. Vinson, but the manufac- 
ture of that serum means more to me 
right now than anything in the world. 
Try it, anyway. Work here at my lab- 
oratory for a month, a year, and name 
your price.” 

“Oh, it is not the money,” protested 
the biochemist. He did not quite mask 
the inherent cupidity of his nature, 
however. His eyes gleamed with sud- 
den interest. “It would cost much. 
Your place here is equipped for elec- 
trons and volts, not bacteria and 
guinea-pigs. I would have to buy 
much — ” 

“Then it is agreed,” declared York. 
“At any cost, make me 10 c.c, of this 
Elixir.” 

“Elixir!” Dr. Vinson’s whole man- 
ner changed. “Elixir, did you say? 
Where did you copy these formulae? 
What do they represent?” 

“Bluntly, none of your business.” 
York could not hide a trace of anger. 
He had never particularly liked the bio- 
chemist. For a moment he was sorry 
he had picked him. Yet he knew it 
would be difficult to find a more capable 
man for the task. 

Dr. Vinson shrugged. York went on : 
“You will be paid for duplication of the 
serum, nothing more. Look over this 
chemical annex to my laboratories. 
Whenever you are ready, come to the 



library. I’ll discuss terms and pro- 
cedure with you.” He wheeled about 
and left. 

Dr. Vinson studied the sheet in his 
hand. It was a typewritten copy of 
someone’s research notes. Whose? 
What did they represent? An Elixir? 
Further pondering suddenly enlight- 
ened him. Matthew York — Anton 
York: father and son. Many years be- 
fore Matthew York had published a 
short treatise on the secret of life. He 
had claimed that an electrical interpre- 
tation of life was the only approach to 
its mystery. He created a small furor, 
and his paper became the forerunner of 
radiogenic theory. Yet nothing more 
had been heard of Matthew York. 

Except perhaps this. Dr. Vinson 
held up the sheet, wondering. 

That same day York spoke to his wife 
eagerly. For the first time he explained 
to her fully the secret of his youth — the 
immortality of his flesh. She was not 
so surprised as she might have been. 
She caught her breath sharply, though, 
when he added: “And when Dr. Vin- 
son makes up some of the serum, it will 
be for you ! Y ou and I will have each 
other forever in perpetual youth, in our 
prime of life!” 

She was suddenly in his arms, sob- 
bing. 

“I will love you for all eternity !” 

I N the next month York’s laboratory 
became the receiving end of a small 
caravan of new materials. Varieties 
of chemicals, crates of apparatus, cages 
of squealing guinea-pigs. For Dr. Vin- 
son had seen at a glance that the serum 
was not to be an elementary accom- 
plishment. 

In another month he had started to 
gain results. York came often to watch 
him work. He seldom spoke. His atti- 
tude was one of waiting, and impatient- 
ly. Sometimes his wife was with him, 
and they would watch together, smiling 
at one another secretly. 

Vinson did not give up trying to 
draw out York in conversation about 
this mysterious project. 

“York,” he complained one day, 
“there’s something missing in the data 
I’m working on. I’ll have to have it 
all. Where are the original notes?” 



CONQUEST OF LIFE 



35 



“Why do you need them?” York 
countered hesitantly. 

“Because something I need may be in 
them. Some little thing you neglected 
to copy, but vital to successful duplica- 
tion. Look at this guinea-pig. The ser- 
um killed him, as it has all others, be- 
cause it is not the right serum.” 

York faltered. Some instinct had 
kept him from showing his father’s 
notes up until now, for they dealt with 
a tremendous thing. Y et he wanted the 
serum. And because the Infinite did not 
warn him, he yielded. But only the 
scientific notes, not the diary. 

Dr. Vinson’s over-eager hands leaped 
the yellowed pages. His eyes glittered 
first, then narrowed. A pattern was 
piecing itself together in his mind. 

Not many weeks later the bio- 
chemist’s face was bright with triumph. 
Together with York he watched the 
healthy antics of a guinea-pig into 
whose veins the day before had been in- 
jected an overdose of bubonic plague 
germs. 

“That little animal is germ-proof!” 
annoimced Vinson excitedly. “It has 
passed the last test. It is immune to 
any but violent death. We have the 
same serum now that your father de- 
veloped.” 

York turned swiftly. 

“My father! How did you know? 
What—” 

The biologist smiled thinly. 

“Why beat around the bush, York? 
Your father developed this serum and 
tried it on you. It was dangerous, be- 
cause the serum was fatal half the time. 
Yet he took the chance, knowing that if 
you smvived, you would be immime to 
disease.” His face changed subtly. 
“And immortal !” 

“Damn you!” cursed York, stepping 
forward. 

“Wait, York. I haven’t been spying 
around. The thing staged me in the 
face. You, who should be as old as I 
am, fifty-five, look like thirty-five. 
Then, I can show you a fruit fly that 
has lived twice its normal span and 
will continue to live — who knows — 
through all eternity. It astounded me 
until I reasoned it out.” 

York relaxed. After all, it was too 
tremendous a secret to conceal from the 



man who had worked with his father’s 
notes. He stared at the biochemist 
uncertainly. What would this mean? 
Dr. Vinson laughed shortly. 

“You are an immortal, York. And 
you love your wife. You want her by 
your side in the long future that beck- 
ons. Hence, my work here — to manu- 
facture the Elixir, for her. Well, let 
me warn you — there is an even chance 
that your wife will not gain immor- 
tality, but death!” 

“I’m going to take the chance,” York 
said. “Prepare a suitable dose for in- 
jection. In case of death — ” 

H e made a resigned gestme. “Vin- 
son,” he continued, solemnly, “you 
and I share a great secret. The Foun- 
tain of Youth ! An age-old dream come 
true. After my wife has been inocu- 
lated, we’ll have to discuss — many 
things. This Elixir can be a great gift 
to civilization, to mankind. In my own 
case it will allow me to finish my re- 
searches, to solve the secret of gravi- 
tation, which I could not do in one life- 
time. But certain problems would arise 
if the Elixir were given to the world. 
You can guess them.” 

Vinson did not answer. His small 
eyes blazed with the dawning gleam of 
some staggering idea. York noticed 
the sudden stiffening of his body, spoke 
sharply. 

“Well?” It was a challenge. 

The biochemist’s dry lips parted but 
no soimd came. Then with an effort he 
gasped: “Death! If your wife dies, 
think of the responsibility, the guilt!” 
If York had not been so preoccupied 
with his own problems, he would have 
demanded the truth. For Vinson had 
not spoken whaf was crawling in his 
mind — something of far greater signifi- 
cance than the mere fate of one woman. 

“The responsibility is all mine,” 
snapped York. “I have her full con- 
sent to this. We have also made out a 
legal document absolving me from all 
blame in case of her death under the 
serum. According to law, this is not 
contestable in court any more, so long 
as the parties concerned are mentally 
sound. You are not an accessory to a 
crime in any sense, for there is no crime. 
When can you have the stuff ready?” 



36 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



“In about three days,” answered Vin- 
son, voice curiously hushed. His face 
looked fevered; his hand trembled. 
“You see, I want to do my best with 
the serum for your wife. Purify it as 
much as possibl|. Increase the odds in 
our favor.” 

York put a hand to the biochemist’s 
shoulder. 

“Come, don’t take it so hard,” he said, 
vaguely aware that the man was more 
than normally moved. 

Vinson smiled weakly. York left, to 
tell Vera of the near approach of the 
great moment when they would look 
down the interminable hall of the fu- 
ture together. When the door had 
closed behind him, the biochemist’s face 
gave way to pent-up emotions he no 
longer had to hide. A twisted smile 
came over the thin lips that hissed, 
“Fool !” in the direction of the vanished 
York. 

If there is some repetitious twist to 
the workings of fate, certainly it be- 
came manifest in the events that oc- 
curred three nights later. For in broad 
detail it was the ancient story of eter- 
nal love, of Romeo and Juliet, re-en- 
acted. 

Tall, handsome, physically perfect, 
Anton York stood over the body of his 
wife, his face marked with grief. She 
lay on a couch, her beautiful face 
molded in the peaceful lines of death. 
Dr. Vinson stood to one side, like a 
dumfounded Belthasar, breathing hard. 
He stared mutely from the hypodermic 
in his hand to the pair before him. 

Just a few minutes before, with York 
holding his wife’s hand, he had injected 
the serum into her arm. The reaction 
had been sudden and startling. Her 
breathing had grown hard, her eyes had 
flown wide. With a little half sob and 
half smile to her husband, she had fallen 
back on the couch. Then a few racking 
gasps, after which an ominous stillness 
had come over her relaxed form. 

V INSON dropped the hypodermic 
^nd stepped beside the couch. He 
leaned over to listen for heart beats. 
Then he looked up. 

“Dead I” he whispered huskily. “The 
odds were not quite even, for her !” 
York’s face was a blur of overwhelm- 



ing, repressed despair. Though Vin- 
son had repeatedly warned him that this 
could be the result, he had not been 
prepared for it. He dashed from the 
room suddenly, without a word. 

Alone with the body, Vinson stared 
at the sweet face somewhat fearfully. 
It shook his resolve to try the Elixir 
himself, which was necessary for the 
furtherance of certain plans he had 
made. Immortally or death! Was it 
worth the risk? 

York suddenly burst into the room, 
face pale and desperate. Ignoring the 
biochemist, he dropped to his knees be- 
side the couch. For a long moment he 
gazed at the face so dear to him. Then, 
with a swift motion he brought one 
hand up toward his mouth. Vinson 
caught the glint of glass, uttered a 
strangled cry. 

But it was already done. York gave 
him a wan smile. 

“Cyanide,” he whispered. “That is 
a better Elixir for eternal life.” A min- 
ute later he slumped across the body of 
his wife, pale blue aroiuid the lips. 

Dr. Vinson gaped at the double trag- 
edy. For a moment he was weak with 
horror of death. But presently he 
straightened up, smiled. 

“Perhaps it is better this way,” he 
mused. “York might have resisted my 
plans. He is — was — the altruistic sort. 
He would not have approved, I’m sure. 
And I had determined anyway that 
nothing was to stand in my way.” 

He laughed shortly. “The fool! 
With the greatest gift mankind ever 
had in his hand, he thought only of 
making his wife immortal. I suppose 
later he would have envisioned centu- 
ries of research for himself — to benefit 
mankind. He could not think of the 
important thing — power! The power 
of immortality ! But I think of it. Yes. 
First, I’ll purify the Elixir further — 
give myself a greater chance to survive 
it. Then—” 

He broke from a trance, whirled 
about. 

“Got to get out,” he told himself. “I 
must not be connected with this affair. 
I must be left alone — to think, to plan, 
to build.” He rolled the phrase on his 
tongue, eyes gleaming with a fanatic 
fire. “I’ll change my name. Get all 



CONQUEST OF LIFE 



37 



my money together and leave the coun- 
try perhaps. Build in secret. This 
marks a new phase in my life, and in 
the history of the world!” 

He turned once more to the still 
forms on the couch. With the sense of 
melodrama still upon him, he whis- 
pered: “We shall either meet again 
soon, in eternal death, or never in an 
eternity !” 

CHAPTER IV 
The Immortals 



D r. VINSON left and made his way 
to the laboratory in which he had 
duplicated the Elixir. Here he heaped 
all of Matthew York’s notes on the 
floor, set fire to them. In his brain was 
locked the great secret of the serum. 
On sudden thought he took a gallon 
jar of alcohol and rolled it toward the 
burning papers. He watched until the 
heat cracked the glass and sprayed liq- 
uid fire over the floor. The flames 
licked at the wooden workbenches, 
grew to a vigorous blaze. 

Vinson turned away with a dark 
smile shadowing his face. 

“From these ashes will spring my im- 
mortal empire!” he cried aloud. Then 
he left the place. 

The eager flames became a yellow 
holocaust in the big building that 
housed the laboratory and home of An- 
ton York. But fate had not played out 
its re-enactment of history’s Romeo 
and Juliet. In the room where a double 
tragedy had seemed to occur, there was 
a stir of life. 

Vera opened her eyes and struggled 
to sit up on the couch. Her husband’s 
body slid away, fell to the floor gently. 
Her horrified eyes saw this and with a 
scream of terror she -fell back again, 
pale as death. 

But it was not the dagger-death of 
Juliet. She had only fainted. When 
York opened his eyes a moment later, 
his mind was an aching blank. A rush 
of memory brought him to his feet with 
a groan. He stood there a moment, 
trying to fathom his escape from death. 
He could not know that the same super- 



electrical quality of his flesh which re- 
sisted disease and supplied the energy 
of youth was also able to fight the fatal 
fire of life-poisons with its own youth- 
fires. 

A thick cry of imbelief escaped him 
as he saw that his wife was breathing. 
There were two fevered spots of red on 
her marble cheeks. Death had passed 
them both by I Again it was an enigma 
to him that the powerful serum, pro- 
ducing a temporary coma, like that be- 
fore death, had finally eased its stric- 
ture of the heart and lungs and tdlowed 
life to continue in her body. 

A curl of smoke under the door 
warned York of the danger. He swimg 
it open and as quickly closed it as a 
cloud of smoke swept into the room. 
He picked up his wife in strong arms 
and ran from the building. There was 
a faint dismay in his heart over the 
loss of the laboratory, but a far greater 
joy that they were alive. And alive 
as immortals, both of them ! 

A month later, in a hospital, York’s 
tired eyes lit up happily. 

“The danger is over, Vera,” he told 
her. “You went through the same pe- 
riod of illness that I did when my fa- 
ther gave me the serum as a child. It’s 
like the fevers that follow vaccination. 
But it’s over now, and you and I to- 
gether can look down the centuries !” 

Three months after this, in a hotel, 
Vera asked about Vinson. 

“Dr. Vinson disappeared in the fire,” 
York told his wife, “and I’m worried 
about him. I can’t rest until I know 
where he is. He alone has my father’s 
secret — the original notes were de- 
stroyed together with all copies. What 
is he doing with the Elixir? I can’t 
help feeling concerned, because he is 
not the man to use such a thing wisely.” 

A YEAR later, he said resignedly: 
“I guess there’s no use to hunt 
him further. I’ve employed the most 
expert detectives, but they’ve found no 
trace. Wherever Vinson has gone, he’s 
covered his trail completely. And that’s 
ominous. Again, he may have tried the 
serum and died from it. I wish I could 
hope that.” 

Two years later, York proudly sur- 
veyed his new laboratories, located in 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



■ 38 

a remote part of the mountains. It was 
made possible by one of his inventions. 
A large industrial concern had patented 
his super-magnet, a by-product of his 
pervious researches in gravitational 
phenomena. ♦ 

“Here,” he predicted, “I shall solve 
the secret of gravitation.” 

Five years later he had come to the 
conclusion that gravitation exhibited 
lines of force, much like a magnet. 
“What is wrong with .the analogy of 
converting kinetic motion into elec- 
tricity by cutting the lines of magnetic 
force?” he asked himself. “If the field 
of gravitational force is similarly cut — 
yes, but with what?” 

Ten years later, he frowned at a new 
snag in his researches. 

Ten years after that, with careful 
planning, he and Vera changed their 
names, to circumvent explaining their 
permanent youth. 

A decade later they had achieved a 
harmony of continued existence, and 
mortality seemed a dream in their past. 

Time swept by. Its rolling pace did 
not change the couple in their mountain 
laboratory-home. They were still thir- 
ty-five in appearance and vigor. They 
lived in a state of detachment from the 
rest of the world. From the sidelines, 
they watched the kaleidoscopic march 
of events, the unfurling of history. 
Strikes, famines, elections, social 
changes, shifting national boxmdaries, 
new inventions — their televisor kept 
them informed. 

York’s experiments took him into a 
field wholly imtouched — the phenom- 
ena of the gravitational lines of force. 
A field as imtouched as the electromag- 
netic scale before Newton and his suc- 
cessors explored it. It had taken over 
two centuries, and a host of diligent 
savants, to understand radio waves and 
cosmic radiation, the limits of that field. 
York labored to explore his field alone, 
and in less than two centuries. 

In a way, York was equal to a line of 
scientists following one goal. Each 
time he reached some hiatus and had 
to branch away. He was like a new 
worker taking up the work another had 
left in death. And he had the advan- 
tage of always being in perfect condi- 
tion, physically and mentally. 



Thus it was, that a task that normally 
would have required all of a thousand 
years of science fell before his irresis- 
tible onslaught. He called his wife in 
excitedly one day. 

“I’ve cut the force-lines of gravita- 
tion,” he sang triumphantly. “I use 
light-beams, ciived ones, for the en- 
ergy source. I feed them into the 
quartz coils, like electricity in a helix 
of copper wire, to create a magnetic 
field. A magnetic field is used in oppo- 
sition to another magnetic field to pro- 
duce kinetic motion. My quartz field 
produces a gravitational field, in oppo- 
sition to Earth’s gravity, to produce 
kinetic motion. Unlimited kinetic mo- 
tion-direct from Earth’s gravitational 
field!” 

Y ORK’S voice became a paean of 
enthusiasm. 

“It is the answer to space travel, if 
I can refine my apparatus to the point 
where a single beam of direct sunlight 
will actuate my quartz rotors. I must 
also make a sun-charging battery to 
spin the rotors, so that a ship in space 
v^l need only the perpetual sunlight 
to motivate it. Vera, I am close!” 
Close, yet it took another quarter cen- 
tury to achieve it. It was almost a 
hundred after the inoculation of Vera 
that York gave his ship its first tryout. 
It was a ten-foot globe of light metal, 
set with several thick quartz port-win- 
dows. Two large convex mirrors at the 
top were arranged to feed sunlight to 
knobs of sensitive selenium. Some mir- 
acle of York’s science compelled the 
sun’s radiant energy to pour into the 
ship like water into a funnel. 

It handled awkw«irdly at first, until 
York got the feel of changing his arti- 
ficial gravity fields. Then he was able 
to whisk the heavy globular ship about 
with flashing speed. It looked like a 
bright steel bomb from some giant can- 
non. 

He leaped out of its hatchway, pant- 
ing, after landing. 

“I can’t tell you how excited I am 
over this,” he told his wife. “Think of 
it. We can stock the ship with neces- 
sities and go out into space, explore 
the other planets !” 

They made a trip to the moon and 



CONQUEST OF LIFE 



39 



back that same year. From this experi- 
ence York was able to refine his appara- 
tus still more. They made a trip to 
Mars and to Venus. He began plan- 
ning a trip to another star. This would 
require a larger ship for supplies and 
motors to be run by starlight and tenu- 
ous mid-void gravitational forces, and 
he began its construction. If his gift 
of immortality had made him feel like 
a god, this ability to explore the ether 
was still more of a god-given attribute. 

He opened his eyes one day to real- 
ize he had been drunk with these 
things, as he had been vdth the first 
realization of immortality. Earnestly, 
then, he sat down to write out the com- 
plete plans for his anti-gravity unit. He 
would send this to every scientific in- 
stitution of the world. 

It was just before he had finished the 
long and complicated paper that Vera 
called his attention to startling news 
over the radio. All during the past 
year there had been mysterious inva- 
sions in outlying sections of the world. 
Mysterious, but unimportant in that 
they involved obscure regions. The in- 
vaders had always come in small, swift 
ships, equipped with incredibly destruc- 
tive weapons. Many garbled reports 
had been received from places invaded, 
but no one seemed to know just who 
or what was responsible. 

But this night, the news was alarm- 
ing. 

“Rome has just imdergone a terrific 
bombing by a mysterious fleet of small, 
fast aircraft,” an excited announcer told 
the world. “They may be the same 
ones that have been terrorizing Earth 
in the past year. All the world is 
aroused. What nation has done this 
cowardly thing, attacking without 
warning?” 

York’s eyes reflected again the emo- 
tions that had haunted him in the 
World War. 

War ! That most senseless of human 
atrocities. 

“Haven’t they had enough of it?” he 
cried. “They fought like beasts for a 
decade just thirty years ago. I was 
tempted then to reveal my super- 
weapon and let them butcher one 
another to nothingness. I am tempted 
now.” 



T he next day Berlin was bombed. 

And in the following days, Paris, 
London, and Moscow. The world 
gasped. What mad nation was chal- 
lenging all Europe? Tokyo was 
bombed, and then Washington. What 
power was challenging the whole 
world? A new note of terror arose 
when a gigantic fleet, composed of 
mixed Italian and German aircraft, 
was annihilated by fifty small ships 
of the invaders. The enemy seemed 
to have some long-range weapon that 
made victory ridiculously easy. 

York waited for the unknown power 
to declare itself. Then he would act. 
After the succession of bombings, 
which had not been very destructive 
and had evidently been an exhibition of 
power, there was a lull of a day, then 
news that set the world on fire. 

“The enemy had finally announced 
itself,” blared the televisor. “This af- 
ternoon a powerful radio message was 
picked up at many official stations. The 
invaders that have bombed the world’s 
most important cities call themselves 
The Immortals. They demand a par- 
ley of all important nations, at which 
The Immortals are to be accepted as 
the sole government on earth. In 
plain words, The Immortals, whoever 
they are, demand world dominion. 
This, or the threat of continuous bomb- 
ing and destruction by their invincible 
fleet of fifty ships!” 

Then York knew. He and Vera 
looked at one another. 

“Dr. Vinson!” gasped York. “Dr. 
Vinson and a band of ruthless demons 
bent on conquering Earth. For a hun- 
dred years he planned this. I did not 
think he would go to such lengths. In 
some hidden spot he and his crew, all 
immortals, must have labored for this 
day. Undoubtedly they are all scien- 
tists and technicians. Men who in a 
century’s time could do miracles in dis- 
covery. Vastly improved ships, super- 
weapons, carafully laid plans. They 
played for big stakes and made prep- 
arations in a big way.” 

He turned his anger on himself. 
“Why didn’t I see it before this? It’s 
all so clear now. In the past year they 
carried out experimental raids, to 
gauge their power and readiness. I 



40 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



should have suspected, and prepared. 
Now they have struck, and the end will 
be soon. True scientific warfare 
against the world’s tremendous, but 
clumsy armament. The wasp against 
the bear. It can sting again and again, 
too quick and small to fee crushed by 
might.” 

Again news came over the televisor, 
indicating the crisis which faced the 
world. A hastily and secretly formed 
armada of the world’s best fighting 
craft — of every large nation — ^had 
massed and challenged The Immortals. 
The challenge had been promptly ac- 
cepted. The incredible story told by 
gasping announcers was that by sheer 
weight of numbers the fleet had suc- 
ceeded in downing three of the enemy, 
while they themselves were mowed to 
one-third their strength. The remnant 
had fled. 

Vera was cJarmed by the sickly grey 
color of York’s face as he heard this. 

“I’m responsible,” he whispered 
hoarsely. “I let the dangerous secret 
of immortality fall into Vinson’s 
hands!” His whisper continued, but 
with a deadlier note in it: “I must act 
before it is too late.” 

It was the climax of his super life- 
time. Armed with nothing more than 
a few pages of diagrams and figures, 
York descended on Washington in his 
silent gravity ship and said he could 
fight the alien power. He was derided 
rather than laughed at, in that the situ- 
ation was too grim for laughing. 



CHAPTER V 
The Destroyer 



H owever, the gravity ship could 
not be laughed at. And when a 
group of scientists was hurriedly as- 
sembled, they said the thing looked 
good on paper. At the same time the 
startling news came that The Immor- 
tals had been completely victorious in 
Europe and were now sweeping Asia. 
If Japan would fall, as must be, Amer- 
ica would be next, as the last remain- 
ing power. 

Faster than they had ever moved be- 



fore, the wheels of industry, lashed by 
a frantic government, timned out the 
apparatus York wanted. He had them 
secretly move their headquarters to 
Pittsburgh. The terrible weapon he 
had kept locked in his brain for over a 
century took form here. 

In two weeks it was nearly com- 
pleted, but not before The Immortals, 
now dominant in the Eastern Hemis- 
phere, swung their tiny, deadly fleet 
westward. At the first encounter, the 
pride of America’s aerial defense was 
annihilated by the sweeping rays of the 
enemy. These rays had all the potency 
of a two-ton bomb at close range, yet 
were invisible and noiseless. 

“We must surrender!” This cry 
echoed in the hall of authority. 

“Hold out!” commanded York. 
“Hold out, I tell you.” 

They obeyed him, almost hypnotized 
by his blazing eyes. The Immortals, 
after defiance of their ultimatum, 
promptly began razing cities to the 
ground. Their supply of fuel and am- 
munition seemed inexhaustible. Com- 
ing from the west, San Francisco, Den- 
ver and St. Louis crumpled before the 
onslaught. 

“Enough is enough. We must give 
in!” was the horrified clamor among 
the leaders and statesmen. 

“Hold out!” screamed York. “Three 
more days!” 

They did. In those three days Chi- 
cago, Cincinnati and Philadelphia be- 
came smoking ruins. And the invinci- 
ble fleet headed for New York City! 

But in those three days York became 
prepared. His weapon was mounted 
on his ship, a long snout of vitrolite 
pivoted on a universally jointed base. 
Wires led inside the ship, through 
hastily made rips in the hull, to the 
power source of the ship. By a quick 
change, York had fitted his anti-gravity 
unit to utilize Earth’s tremendous grav- 
itational field for power for the vitro- 
lite gun. 

Then he contacted the fleet of The 
Immortals by radio, challenged them, 
called them back from their course to- 
ward New York. They might have 
taken it as a desperate bluff to save 
that great city except that York made 
his challenge a personal one — from 



CONQUEST OF LIFE 



41 



himself to Dr. Vinson. 

“York?” came back a voice that was 
recognizable as Dr. Vinson’s. “Anton 
York? Impossible — he — ” 

“I did not die, Vinson. I survived 
the cyanide. I’ve been wondering if 
you would appear on the scene. I’d al- 
most forgotten you in the century that 
has gone by. But bad pennies always 
show up. You’ve done a lot of damage, 
Vinson, but you’ll do no more. I’ll meet 
your fleet anywhere you say for a show- 
down. If you don’t meet me halfway. 
I’ll hound you to the ends of the earth 
— to the ends of the Universe if I 
must !” 

Vinson’s voice spluttered over the 
radio. For the first time his com- 
panions around him saw fear on their 
leader’s face. What man could this 
York be, that their hitherto confident 
master feared him? 

T hen Vinson spoke again : “Wait, 
Y ork. I don’t know what you have 
to give you such confidence against my 
fleet, but listen to reason. You’re an 
Immortal, as we are. You belong with 
us, York — as rulers of Earth. I have 
no grudge against you. Join up with 
me and that’s the end of it. Why 
should there be trouble between us?” 
York’s voice was a white-hot hiss in 
the microphone. 

“You will rule Earth without me, or 
not at all. But first you must put me 
out of the way. Name the place!” 
“Over Niagara Falls!” Vinson’s 
voice, previously uncertain, rang now 
with arrogance and assurance. “What 
can you do against the fleet that has 
whipped a world?” 

It must have semed like a battle of 
the gods to those fortunate eyes that 
saw it, especially those who had caught 
the exchange of words between York 
and Vinson. 

York’s ship, a bright ball of metal 
and glass, dropped from the clouds sev- 
eral miles from the fleet of The Im- 
mortals. A group of tiny black figures 
could be seen around the base of the 
vitrolite gun, precariously hung in 
sprung seats. These were the gunners, 
iron-nerved army men who knew no- 
thing about the weapon, but who knew 
that when you aimed the long snout 



and jerked a lever, a something was re- 
leased that could destroy. Other than 
that they had only grim determination 
and courage. 

Like the buzzing of angry hornets, 
Vinson’s fleet dashed for the lone ship. 
York’s ship, high over Lake Erie, hov- 
ered like a poised eagle. The long, 
slender vitrolite tube swung toward 
the oncoming ships. Something blue 
and pulsating sprang from it, projected 
a streamer of violet across the inter- 
vening space of two miles. 

What inconceivable force it was, no 
one was ever to know. York could 
have described it briefly as a combina- 
tion of atom-tuned sound vibrations 
and electron-tuned gamma vibrations, 
both together able to rip matter to 
ultra-shreds, without revealing its se- 
cret. For it was a type of wave exist- 
ing in the audio-ether transition stage 
between the known and the unknown 
in catalogued science. 

But the effect was not so mysterious. 
A dozen of the enemy craft sagged 
strangely, burst into little bubbles of 
vapor, and changed to clouds of black 
dust that fell slowly toward the water 
below. The rest of the fleet, as one, 
swept up and to one side, away from 
this frightful weapon. Yet before they 
had completed the retreat, twelve more 
of their ships had become puff-balls of 
black soot. 

York smiled grimly. He had pur- 
posely made the focus of the gun’s 
beam very wide. Each time it belched 
forth its Titanic charge, a ransom in 
power went with it. But Earth could 
afford it, with its almost unlimited 
gravitational stresses that fed the 
weapon. 

The range of The Immortals’ weap- 
ons was known to be just as great, but 
they had not thought to use them on 
this lone ship three miles away. Now. 
however, the air droned with the con- 
cussion of atmospheric rents made by 
invisible streamers of their ray-forces. 
Their rays we?e amplified cathode radi- 
ations, million-watt bundles of elec- 
trons at half the speed of light. 

Y ork was not caught napping. His 
ship had already moved upward, at 
right angles to their position, present- 



. 42 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



ing a target moving at a sped of five 
hundred miles an hour. It was cruel 
for the men exposed to the air around 
the vitrolite gun, but necessary. York 
flung his ship up into the clouds. 

The Immortals seemed nonplussed. 
They scattered widely and massed their 
beams upward, on the blind chance of 
scoring a hit. When York’s ship did 
appear, far on the other side of his 
former positon, it was heralded by the 
destruction of eight more of Vinson's 
fleet. Most of his ships were already 
destroyed and the fight had hardly be- 
gun! 

Under this scene, the waters of Lake 
Erie boiled and rose in great clouds of 
steam. Niagara Falls, though York 
tried to avoid it, took most of one of 
his gun’s charges, and became in one 
minute an unrecognizable jumble of 
churning waters and puffs of black 
vapor. Grim reminder for all time of 
this battle of the gods. 

The Immortals fled, ingloriously, 
scattering wide. The swift, sweeping 
sword of destruction from York’s ship 
picked them off one by one. There was 
no limit to its range. It hounded the 
last one down after a brief chase. And 
the menace of the Immortals was over ! 

The world had to content itself with 
honoring three of the five men who had 
handled the vitrolite gun, and burying 
the other two, dead from their ordeal. 
York, after landing them, had prompt- 
ly departed, without a word to anyone. 



Without waiting for thanks and praises. 
Like a god he had come and like a god 
he left. 

A nd like a god he went out into the 
void not long afterward, with his 
wife, leaving behind him the legacy of 
space travel. The secret of the super- 
weapon went with him. The secret of 
immortality was no longer his to give 
away. Earth had had a god, one who 
had nearly destroyed it, and then saved 
it. One who had shown the way to 
other worlds. One who had exhibited 
an awesome weapon to warn mankind 
what its warfare could lead to. One 
about whom many legends were to be 
woven, true and false. 

But now the god was gone — forever. 
Once given a taste of the supreme free- 
dom of the void, he could not return 
to the pettiness of Earth. Nor did he 
care to interfere in any way, altruistic 
or otherwise, in its normal course of 
affairs. 

On and on he went, he and his im- 
mortal companion. Their understand- 
ing and wisdom grew to cosmic heights. 
They visited many worlds, many suns. 
Time meant nothing. They discovered 
the secret of voluntary suspended ani- 
mation, requiring no food or air. They 
became truly gods. 

Somewhere in the dim future ages he 
must die, this man-made god. Some- 
time when the scales of Time have suf- 
ficiently lowered the amount of cosmic 
radiation which gives the god life. 



Next Issue: THE SPACE-TIME-SIZE MACHINE— 
a New "TUBBY" Story by Ray Cummings 





Don’t be of scraping 

your face. Star Single-edge 
Blades give yon comfort— for 
life! Made since 1880 by the 
inventors of the safety razor. 
Star Blade Dlv., Brooklyn, N.Y. 



FOR GEM AND EVER-READY RAZORS 





The Mishty Solar Machine that Meant Safety to Humanity 
was in Danger — and Only the Terrestrial Secret 
Service Could Protect the Earth I 




The great mirror concentrated the sun’s rays. 



SPACE MIRROR 



By EDMOND HAMILTON 

Author of “Cosmic Quest" “The Man Who EMved" etc. 



T he sleek little space ship sped 
through the black gloom of the 
great void like a flying metal tor- 
pedo. Twenty thousand miles behind it 
bulked the huge, grey, cloudy sphere 
of Earth. Ahead — 



The worried, tense young pilot at the 
controls of the little ship pointed ahead 
through the glassite observation wall. 
His finger indicated something to his 
single passenger. 

“There’s the mirror,” he said. “We’ll 



43 



44 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



reach it in an hour. 

Rab Crane, the passenger, stared. 
His bronzed, aquiline face stiffened, 
and his keen black eyes widened in 
surprise. 

“Lord, I didn’t realize it was so 
huge!” he muttered. 

“It’s big, all right.” The pilot’s trou- 
bled eyes surveyed the thing ahead. 
“Three hundred miles across — the work 
of decades — the greatest achievement 
any planet has ever conceived. And if 
it’s wrecked now — ” 

“It’s not going to be wrecked!” Rab 
Crane’s firm mouth was set like a steel 
trap, his eyes glinting in determination. 
“The Terrestrial Secret Service sent me 
out here to find out what or who is 
threatening the mirror. I’ll do it, or 
else—” 

The determined expression still 
stamped on his keen face, the TSS man 
continued to stare as the little space 
ship drew gradually closer to the colos- 
sal thing that floated in space ahead. 

It was a staggering sight. A huge 
concave mirror, it floated in space like 
a satellite, slowly revolving around the 
rotating Earth. Its concave, inner face 
always turned toward the south polar 
regions of Earth, and also toward the 
glaring sun. A protective, protonic bar- 
rier enveloped the mirror and deflected 
all oncoming meteors. 

The mighty mirror, catching the 
sun’s rays in its vast concave, was 
throwing them back toward Earth in a 
concentrated beam of tremendous bril- 
liance. It made a terrific shaft of in- 
credible radiant heat that was focused 
upon a certain spot in the icy Antarctic. 
There it struck heat engines capable of 
generating unlimited power for Earth. 
It was a mighty power project, the 
work of years, and would give Earth 
complete power supremacy in the Solar 
System — if it were not wrecked. 

If it were not wrecked! Yes, there 
was the menacing shadow. There were, 
among the other eight independent 
planets of the System, worlds that 
would like the project to be destroyed. 
Mars, Venus, Mercury, Jupiter — old 
enemies of Earth, jealous of its ancient 
wealth and prominence. Which one of 
them was now trying to sabotage the 
project, using the weapon of hideous 



murder? He’d have to find out. Crane 
resolved again. The Chief had sent him 
to find out, and a man of the TSS car- 
ried out the Chief’s orders — or didn’t 
come back. 

The pilot was heading the little space 
ship to overshoot the great mirror’s 
edge. 

“We go over, it and around to the 
back,” he explained. “The control 
rooms, work shops, barracks and all are 
in the air-tight dome on the back of the 
mirror, you know.” 

Rab Crane nodded silently. The 
space ship crept over the edge of the 
mighty concave, dropped swiftly down 
along its black, convex back. Built onto 
the rear was a large domelike structure 
from which jutted a broad landing plat- 
form. 

The pilot dropped the little ship 
skillfully onto that platform. A tubu- 
lar gangway shot out from the wall of 
dome, making air-tight connection with 
the ship door. In a moment, Rab Crane 
and the. pilot stood in one of the com- 
partments of the air-tight dome. 

Officers stepped to meet him, the 
foremost a tall, brown-faced, thin and 
worried man of forty. 

“Mr. Crane?” said the thin officer. 
“I’m Major Morrow, second in com- 
mand here.” 

He indicated two other officers, a 
chubby, bald, pink-faced captain and a 
dark, sullen-looking young lieutenant. 

“Captain Britt, our chief medical of- 
ficer, and Lieutenant Laver,” he said. 

Rab Crane acknowledged the intro- 
ductions. 

“Where’s Colonel Ames?” he asked 
crisply. “He commands the mirror 
now, doesn’t he?” 

Major Morrow nodded nervously. 

“ Y es, he’s commanded since the mur- 
der of General Bray. I’ll take you to 
him.” 

H e led them up through the other 
two floor levels of the dome. 
They passed a maze of artificially 
lighted compartments, machine shops, 
barracks, "rhe maintenance crew of 
the mirror, fifty men in all, was at vari- 
ous tasks. Ventilation pumps throbbed 
incessantly. Earth’s gravitation held 
them to the floor, even out here. 



SPACE MIRROR 



45 



Morrow was talking, the worry of 
days spilling from his lips. 

“Two men have been murdered here, 
in some hellish way. General Bray, 
a week ago. And a rocket-technician, 
the same day.” 

“Rocket- technician?” Crane re- 
peated. 

Morrow nodded. 

“The mirror is equipped, you know, 
with rocket-tubes set around its rim, 
so that if necessary its position in space 
can be changed at will. This man 
was head technician.” 

“I never saw anything like those two 
murdered men. It was horrible,” said 
Captain Britt, the chubby medical offi- 
cer. 

They had climbed a stair to a corri- 
dor on the dome’s third floor. Major 
Morrow knocked on a locked door. 

“Colonel Ames’ office, from which 
the control room opens,” Morrow ex- 
plained. “Ames has kept himself locked 
in lately. Afraid — afraid of whatever 
killer is at large here at the mirror.” 

“One of the fifty men here in the 
dome,” the chubby medical officer mut- 
tered. “A killer, doing this for some 
reason — ” 

There was no answer to the knock. 
Morrow looked startled. He rapped 
again, more loudly, and called. Still 
came no answer. 

“Something’s wrong !” Morrow cried. 
“Colonel Ames is in there but he 
doesn’t answer. Laver, get men to 
break the door.” 

“Wait, this is quicker,” snapped Rab 
Crane. His beam-tube had leaped from 
his pocket into his hand. “Stand back !” 

The thread of blinding blue force 
from his tube lashed out and hit the 
lock of the metal door. Beneath the 
needle of terrific force, the metal began 
to melt and run. 

Crane snapped off the beam, drew 
back and hurled himself against the 
door. The half melted lock snapped 
and the door burst in. The four men 
stood petrified for a moment as they 
stared at Colonel Ames, sitting there at 
his desk facing them. 

“My God!” cried Morrow, his face 
ghastly. “Ames too — he’s been mur- 
dered !” 

“The same — as the others — ” Britt 



choked. 

Colonel Ames had been a tall, dis- 
tinguished man. But he was a hideous 
sight now. His body was a withered, 
dry, brown mummy, as though he had 
been dead for thousands of years. 

Rab Crane sprang forward. “The 
‘dry death !’ ” the TSS man hissed. 
“Someone poisoned him with it!” 

The other three stared in horrified 
stupefaction. 

“It’s the most ghastly poison in the 
Solar System, little known,” Rab Crane 
swiftly explained. “It’s a hellish infec- 
tion from the deserts of Mars that runs 
through the body like flame, dehydrat- 
ing it, destroying every molecule of 
water in it by a chemical process akin 
to electrolysis.” 

Crane rapidly examined the brown, 
withered body of the dead commander. 
He found on one leg a spot that was 
darker brown than the rest of the 
parched skin. 

“That’s where the stuff was shot 
into him,” he rasped. “But how did 
the murderer get in here?” 

“God, how could he have got in 
here?” Major Morrow said hoarsely. 
“The door was locked from inside. 
There are no windows in this office, 
either.” 

Crane strode across the office to a 
heavy door, sealed hermetically tight 
like a ship’s air-lock. It was locked. 

“That’s the door of the control room,” 
Morrow explained. “It’s always locked 
for purposes of safety. Only the com- 
manding officer has a key.” 

He found the key in the dead colo- 
nel’s pocket and unlocked the heavy, 
air-tight door. Inside lay a small room, 
one wall of which bore a bank of shin- 
ing levers, and a battery of dial-gauges 
and electro-telescope screens. Only 
from this room could the rocket-tubes 
that changed the mirror’s position be 
operated. But there was no one in it. 

C RANE came back into the office. 
Morrow relocking the door. 
“Major Morrow, this puts you in 
command of the mirror now, doesn’t 
it?” he snapped. “Will you have all 
the men called together below so that 
I can question them? And will you, 
Captain Britt, search their persons for 



46 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



poison while I am investigating here?” 

Britt nodded. 

“I’ll— I’ll do it. But I still don’t see 
how the killer got into this locked room. 
It’s impossible !” 

He and Lieutenant Laver went out. 
Major Morrow, the new commander, 
stared helplessly as Rab Crane started 
searching the office. 

“There’s some horrible plot behind 
all this!” the Major mtunbled. “Some 
other planet is trying to sabotage the 
mirror — ” 

“Major, look at this!” Crane was 
pointing to faint little traces in the dust 
beside the desk where the mummified 
corpse was sitting. “Someone did come 
in here. But how — ” 

Without warning, the lights in the 
office went out, plunging them into Sty- 
gian darkness. Major Morrow uttered 
a startled exclamation. 

“Stay where you are. Morrow,” or- 
dered Crane. His hand went swiftly to 
the beam-tube in his pocket. 

Someone or something was in the 
room I Crane heard a faint, tiny sound 
of scurrying somewhere on the floor. 
A puzzling sound, as of an insect’s dry 
feet. He listened, momentarily per- 
plexed. 

Crane’s hesitation almost cost him 
his life. The next moment he felt some- 
thing tiny and light clinging to his 
trouser leg. At the same moment he 
heard Major Morrow scream, hoarsely, 
horribly. 

Crane kicked frantically to shake off 
the thing on his leg, and darted across 
the dark room to the light switch. His 
foot crushed something tiny that emit- 
ted a shrill, minute scream. 

His hand found the switch and 
clicked it, without result. The lights 
had been put out of commission some- 
how. Crane heard a swift scurrying 
of other tiny feet, other little things 
climbing up his leg. He drew out his 
pencil-light and snapped on its thin ray, 
downward. He stood appalled for a 
moment at the horrible nature of the 
attack. 

The two tiny things climbing up on 
his shoe, reaching for his trouser cuff, 
were men! Men no more than two or 
three inches high, yet perfectly human, 
bronze-skinned, stocky, tiny men like 



the minute homunculi of legend. They 
were reaching to stab long needles 
smeared with a shiny, sticky black into 
his leg. The dreaded “dry death!” 

Crane struck them from him, and his 
foot crushed the tiny, murderous things 
into red pulp. He flashed his light fran- 
tically toward Morrow. In the thin ray, 
he saw Major Morrow still, his eyes 
glazed, his body already brown and 
withered. 

Something sharp pierced Crane’s an- 
kle. Another of the tiny murderers had 
crept up behind him and had driven a 
poisoned needle into his flesh! In a 
few moments, the withering death 
would claim him also. 

Rab Crane acted without a second’s 
conscious thought. One hand swept 
the clinging little homunculus violently 
from his ankle, then snatched up his 
trouser leg. The puncture left by the 
poison needle was a tiny brown spot, 
and the brown was already starting to 
spread. 

Swiftly, Crane levelled his beam-tube 
at his own ankle. Without hesitation he 
released the ray at half strength. It 
seared into his flesh with bone-melting 
agony, instantly burning out a chunk 
of living tissue. It was the only way 
to destroy the poison-infected area in 
his flesh. 

R ab crane reeled with the ter- 
rific pain of his grim cautery. Yet 
he kept his feet, his gaze darting for 
the homunculus he had knocked away. 
It was running for the door, throwing 
itself down to creep out under the door. 
Crane grabbed the tiny thing and ruth- 
lessly strangled it between thumb and 
forefinger. As he stood for a moment, 
panting, he heard cries of alarm and 
running feet pounding down the cor- 
ridor. 

Captain Britt, Lieutenant Laver and 
a half dozen other men burst into the 
office, flashing their lights. They re- 
coiled in terror at the sight of Major 
Morrow’s withered body. 

Britt shouted an order to get the 
lights going. One of the men found 
a connection broken outside the door, 
and the lights in the office flashed on 
as he quickly repaired it. 

“The kiUer got Morrow,” Crane said 



SPACE MIRROR 



47 



grimly. “And this is how he has suc- 
ceeded in murdering all these men — 
using these tiny pygmies who can creep 
under doors and go anywhere unseen.” 

He showed them the crushed body of 
the tiny homunculus and the poisoned 
needle it had carried. Britt examined 
the tiny body carefully. 

“It’s a human being — ^kept down to 
one-thirtieth its normal size!” he told 
them. “It was done by inhibiting the 
post-pituitary gland with chemical in- 
jections before birth, I can see that 
much. And the process was probably 
aided by centrifugal force applied to the 
embryo-—” 

Rab Crane interrupted the medical 
man’s scientific excitement. 

“You’re overlooking the main thing !” 
snapped the TSS agent. “These pyg- 
mies are bronzed, stocky little men. 
They’re Mercurians— only grown to be 
one-thirtieth the size of an ordinary 
Mercurian.” 

His snapping gaze swept the as- 
tounded men. 

“Do you realize what that means? 
It means that Mercury is behind this 
desperate plot against the mirror. 
There must be some Mercurian spy on 
board, disguised as an Earthman. And 
he brought these homunculi with him 
to use in his plot against the mirror, 
keeping them hidden in his belongings.” 

Britt examined the crushed bodies 
again. “You’re right, they are minia- 
tiu-e Mercurians I” he exclaimed. “You 
can tell the native of any planet, no 
matter what his disguise, by his inter- 
nal organs, which differ according to his 
planet’s greater or lesser gravitation. 
These things came from Mercury, all 
right. Everyone knows to what grue- 
some lengths the Mercurian biologists 
have pushed their researches. They’ve 
grown these tiny men and kept them 
secret, to be used by their secret serv- 
ice.” 

Lieutenant Laver’s dark, sullen eyes 
stared at the tiny bodies. 

“I don’t see why Mercury would 
want to wreck the mirror,” he objected. 

“The Mercurians have hated Earth 
for years,” Crane snapped. “Ever since 
we forbade further immigration of Mer- 
curians to Earth. Crowded into the 
only habitable zone of their little world. 



the strip between the scorched sunward 
side and the cold opposite side, unable 
to relieve the pressure of population by 
sending more emigrants to Earth, 
they’ve hated us plenty. Now they’re 
plotting against Earth — against the 
mirror.” 

He swung to the stupefied Britt. 

“Captain, with Morrow dead, you’re 
in command now, right? I want you 
to order a message radioed to Earth and 
request a battle-cruiser to come out 
here with relief officers and a strong 
force of guards.” 

Britt nodded bewilderedly and or- 
dered Lieutenant Laver to give the ra- 
dio operator the message. 

Laver saluted and left. Rab Crane 
walked closer to the medical officer. 

“You can find out who is the Mer- 
curian in disguise, Captain,” he said 
quietly. “You just said a Mercurian 
could be detected by his different in- 
ternal organs. Well, I want you to put 
every man here under an X-ray fluoro- 
scope and inspect them, at once. That 
will disclose the spy.” 

C APTAIN BRITT’S eyes lit. “By 
heaven, it would ! I’ll go down to 
the hospital and get the X-ray outfit 
ready for an examination of each man. 
But first — the key — ” 

He bent and took the control room 
key from the dead Morrow’s pocket. 

“I’m going to search every compart- 
ment for more of those deadly little 
pygmies,” Rab Crane told him as he 
left. “I’ll be down shortly to see what 
you discover by examining the men.” 
Britt hurried down toward the hos- 
pital. Crane carefully wrapped up the 
poison needle and put it away inside 
his pocket." Then, beam-tube in hand, 
he began a search of the compartments 
on the third floor of the dome. 

In none of the offices or rooms on 
that floor did he find further trace of 
the murderous homunculi. He de- 
scended to« the middle floor and 
searched there also, without result. In 
the hospital on that floor he found Cap- 
tain Britt, sweating from exertion, just 
finishing his examination of the last of 
the mirror’s maintenance crew. 

Britt turned from the crackling X-ray 
machine to Crane. 



48 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



“I’ve examined all the men, and every 
one of them is an Earthman!” 

Crane’s lips tightened with disap- 
pointment. 

"There must be a Mercurian on the 
mirror,” he said savagely. 

Britt shook his head. “I checked 
every man — but wait!” His blue eyes 
widened. “I didn’t check Lieutenant 
Laver, or the radio operator. Laver 
hasn’t come up from sending that mes- 
sage to Earth.” 

Crane stiffened. “They should have 
been through sending - that message 
twenty minutes ago !” snapped the TSS 
man. “Wait here — I’m going down to 
the radio room.” 

Crane plunged down the stairs and 
along the corridors of the dome’s lower 
floor, searching for the radio room, 
flinging open doors. As he opened one 
door, he stood petrified. 

It was the radio room, crowded with 
the powerful televisor receiver and 
transmitter. But the great transmit- 
ting tubes were smashed, wrecked. The 
operator lay dead with a beam-hole 
seared in his back. And Lieutenant 
Laver was just staggering to his feet, 
dazedly holding his hand to a bleeding 
wound on the back of his head. 

“What happened?” cried Crane. 

“I — I don’t entirely know,” Laver 
mumbled. “I’d told the operator to get 
your message through to Earth, and 
he had just made connection when the 
door opened behind me. A beam 
flashed past me and killed the operator. 
Before I could turn, a blow on the head 
knocked me out. I didn’t even get a 
glimpse of who did it.” 

“Then the operator didn’t get any of 
the message through at all?” Crane ex- 
claimed. 

Laver shook his head. 

“No, and whoever attacked us 
wrecked the radio. We can’t get any 
call through, now.” 

“Come with me !” cried Crane. His 
face was a tight, tanned mask as he 
lunged out of the radio room and up 
the stairs, Laver following unsteadily. 
The TSS man burst into the hospital. 
Captain Britt was not there now. 
Crane’s face went deadly pale. 

“To the control room!” he cried. 
“ We may be too late — " 



He flew up the stairs, with Laver 
close on his heels, drawing his beam- 
tube as he ran. Crane plunged into the 
commander’s office where Colonel 
Ames and Major Morrow still lay, two 
brown, withered mummies. 

The heavy, air-tight door of the con- 
trol room was just closing from the in- 
side. Crane yelled and flung himself 
madly across the office with Laver. 
His shoulder knocked the closing door 
inward and he and the lieutenant hur- 
tled into the control room. 

F lash ! Laver groaned and 
plunged to the floor as a shining 
thread of deadly force tore through 
his body above the heart. Rab Crane 
spun wildly to train his own weapon 
on the man behind the door who had 
fired as they plunged in. But Crane 
was an instant late. 

The other’s becim-tube was already 
aimed at Crane’s head. Rab saw only 
that tube, and then the blinding thread 
of force flashed out and the TSS man’s 
brain seemed to explode in flaming 
agony. 

Crane found himself slowly coming 
back to consciousness. He guessed it 
was but a few minutes later. But he 
found himself lying on the metal floor 
of the control room, his hands bound 
before him and his ankles tied. The 
side of his head ached and burned hor- 
ribly. Laver still lay where he had 
fallen. 

Captain Britt stood over Crane, look- 
ing down at him calmly. The air-tight, 
heavy door of the control room was 
closed. 

“You!” muttered Rab Crane thickly 
to the chubby captain. “You — the Mer- 
curian spy — I discovered it, but too 
late—” 

Britt smiled. All the bewilderedness 
had left his chubby face and it was 
smooth, purposeful, deadly. 

“Yes, I’m a Mercurian,” he said 
evenly. “The disguise is good, isn’t it? 
Our scientists grafted an Earthman’s 
skin onto my face and hands, and al- 
tered the pigment of my eyes to this 
blue. How did you discover me. 
Crane?” 

“You said you had X-rayed every 
man on the mirror without finding the 



SPACE MIRROR 



49 



spy, except Laver and the operator,” 
Crane told the killer. “The operator 
was dead and Laver was stunned by a 
blow he couldn’t have faked. Then I 
realized that no one had X-rayed you.” 
“Clever, very clever,” smiled the dis- 
guised Mercurian. “But, then, Crane 
of the TSS always had a reputation as 
the cleverest spy in the Solar System. 
It’s too bad your career is going to end 
here. Crane. I meant to kill you with 
my beam a moment ago, but since it 
only grazed and stunned you, I decided 
I might as well let you see the finale 
of this little drama. To make you real- 
ize there is one spy even cleverer than 
the Earthman Crane. 

“I am a Mercurian, yes,” Britt went 
on hatefully, his voice harsh. “And I 
am fighting for Mercury, to give my 
world’s crowded people the chance to 
emigrate to your green, beautiful 
Earth. You have room for millions of 
Mercurian immigrants — and they’re 
going there, whether you Earthmen 
like it or not. We’ll conquer your 
planet ! 

“I killed General Bray, and Colonel 
Ames, and Major Morrow, because 
with them dead, I succeeded to the 
command of the mirror. Which gave 
me the key to this control room. The 
end of my whole plot ! I only killed the 
technician because he’d accidentally 
found me out. The other three had to 
die, to get me control of this room.” 
Britt smiled strangely down at the 
helpless Earthman. 

“You shall see now what the end of 
my plot is. Crane. Watch!” 

He walked to the bank of levers and 
laid a hand on one shining red handle. 

“This control opens the air-locks of 
the whole dome. Crane. It empties the 
entire dome, except this air-sealed 
room, of air. It was built in so that if 
mutiny occurred the commanding of- 
ficer could use it. Jt is why this control 
room was always kept locked.” 

“No!” cried Rab Crane hoarsely. 
“You can’t do that — fifty men in this 
dome who will die in an instant — ” 

“I’d kill fifty million Earthmen to 
give my countrymen their chance!” 
fiamed Britt. “Watch!” 

He swung the handle down. There 
was a brief hissing sound throughout 



the dome. The voices dimly heard 
from below abruptly ceased. A dead si- 
lence prevailed. 

“My God!” murmured Rab Crane. 
“Everybody here at the mirror, except 
us — ^killed instantly when that air 
rushed out.” 

“Exactly!” said Britt. The Mer- 
curian’s eyes were blazing high with 
triumph. “And that is not all. Crane !” 

H e swung toward the screen of one 
of the electro-telescopes, touched 
buttons swiftly. The screen broke into 
light, transmitting the view from a lens 
in the concave face of the mirror. The 
huge, cloudy sphere of Earth, and the 
glaring, distant sun, were visible in it. 

Britt magnified the view of one spot 
on the screen. A swarm of small black 
dots appeared in sight. They were 
space ships, a score of battle-cruisers 
approaching the mirror from sunward. 
Still far away but coming fast. 

Britt’s voice was a flare of triumph. 
“Those are Mercurian war-cruisers! 
They have been hiding in space for 
days, waiting my call. I called them 
before I wrecked the radio. They are 
rushing headlong toward the mirror 
and will take possession of it without 
resistance when they get here.” 

He flung a panting, bitter taunt at 
Crane. 

“Now do you realize how we Mer- 
curians are going to force Earth to re- 
ceive us?” 

“God!” exclaimed Rab Crane, his 
blood freezing at the horror the other’s 
words implied. “You mean you’re go- 
ing to use the mirror — ” 

“Exactly!” shouted Britt. “We’re 
going to use this mirror as a weapon 
with which to force Earth to oiu- will! 
The colossal shaft of radiant heat 
which it stabs towards Earth — suppose 
that terrific beam is directed on New 
York and your other cities, one by one? 
It will burn them to a cinder, will in- 
cinerate any city or spot on Earth it is 
focused at. 

“Yes! This tremendous thing you 
built out here in space shall be the 
weapon by which we of Mercury force 
you to grant our demands. You’ll let 
our immigrants come to Earth, as many 
as we choose — or we’ll scourge you 



50 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



with the beam until you do. And you’ll 
never dare exclude us again, for we 
shall hold the mirror always.” 

The Mercurian’s face was fevered 
with excitement. He wheeled, peered 
with quivering eagerness into the 
screen that showed tlje swift, relentless 
advance of the oncoming Mercurian 
cruisers. 

Rab Crane’s brain was freezing with 
the cold despair of ultimate failure. 
Failure that would give the Mercurians 
a weapon that they could use to enforce 
their demands upon Earth, irresistibly. 
The agonized TSS man strained wildly, 
vainly, to break his bonds. His beam- 
tube was in Britt’s pocket — he had no 
possible weapon. But wait! 

He did have a weapon — one he’d 
wrapped and put into his pocket and 
forgotten ! If by some desperate chance 
he could get it out and use it — 

Crane’s bound hands pawed wildly 
in his jacket pocket. He was fumbling 
with horrible death, he knew. Britt 
still was at the screen, eagerly watch- 
ing. Crane brought out the thing in his 
pocket and clumsily unwrapped it. He 
held it hidden behind his knees. 

“Britt — you’re wrong !” he ex- 
claimed. “You haven’t succeeded. 
You’re beaten now, if you only knew 
it.” 

The Mercmian spy whirled, his face 
harsh. “Bluffing is no good now. Crane. 
You’re through — ^you know it.” 

Crane laughed gratingly. 

“You think so. I’m only waiting. 
Waiting for the thing that’ll destroy 
you when it happens.” 

Britt, his face deadly suspicious and 
menacing, strode over to Crane. 

“If you think you can — ” 

Crane lunged his body forward. The 
thing in his bound hands flashed, buried 
itself deep in Britt’s thigh. 

It was one of the deadly, poisoned 
needles the pygmies had used. The one 
that Crane had wrapped and put into 
his pocket for further examination. 
The carrier of the dreaded “dry death.” 

B ritt staggered back, panic- 
stricken for a moment, then wild- 
ly plucked the poisoned needle from 
his thigh. He ripped his trouser leg. 
The poison, driven by Crane straight 



into an artery, was swiftly spreading 
through Britt’s body. Already his legs 
were becoming brown, withering. A 
shriveling death was rising over his 
whole body almost faster than the eye 
could follow. 

Britt, agony in his eyes, tried to draw 
his beam-tube to turn on Crane. But 
his slight hesitation had been fatal — the 
poison had already paralyzed and with- 
ered his arms, breast, and face. His 
face was turning to a wrinkled mummy 
mask as he reeled and fell. 

His lips moved in a dry, husky 
whisper. 

“You win. Crane — over me. But not 
over Mercury! Those ships are com- 
ing on and there’ll be no resistance 
here — they’ll still take the mirror 
and—” 

His voice trailed off in a cracked 
whisper. His withered lips moved and 
were still. He was a dead, brown 
mummy. 

Crane had cold perspiration on his 
face. The TSS man rolled across the 
floor toward the wall, hunched himself 
upright. He managed to tear his 
bonds through on a sharp switch-blade. 

Then he sprang to the telescope 
screen. The Mercurian cruisers were 
larger on it, rushing headlong toward 
Earth and the mirror. Crane’s brain 
rioted with the fatal knowledge that he, 
alone, could not hold off the space- 
suited throngs in those ships when 
they reached and invaded the mirror. 
Nor could he call Earth for help. Yet 
those ships must be stopped ! 

Crane’s despairing mind suddenly 
thought of one possible expedient. He 
sprang toward the great bank of levers 
that controlled the mirror’s rim rocket- 
tubes. If he only knew how to operate 
those controls, to move the mirror, he 
could still stop those ships. But he 
didn’t know how — ^and all the men on 
the mirror who did know, were dead. 

All of them? Crane wheeled, leaped 
to the side of Lieutenant Laver, still 
lying supine and unmoving on the floor. 

He applied his ear to Laver’s breast, 
A sigh of relief escaped him as he de- 
tected a faint pulsation there. 

“Not dead yet!” cried Rab Crane 
hoarsely to himself. He lifted Laver, 
chafed his face, tried to revive him. 



SPACE MIRROR 



51 



“Laver, wake up! Wake up!” 

But Laver’s eyes did not open. The 
man was slipping down into death, 
minute by minute. 

Crane swore, pleaded, and then shook 
the dying man, cruelly and vigorously. 
The torture of the shaking brought re- 
sults. The lieutenant’s eyes opened. 

“Laver!” Crane was almost sobbing. 
“You know how to operate those con- 
trols — you’ve got to tell me how to 
shift the mirror’s position. Mercurian 
cruisers are coming, to seize the mir- 
ror and use it against Earth. The only 
chance to stop them is to shift the mir- 
ror so that the great beam of heat from 
it will blast those ships out of space. 
Tell me how, man!” 

Laver dimly heard, and understood. 
The dying lieutenant made an agonized 
effort to speak. His voice was a 
whisper, “Co — coordinates of ships — ” 
“Just a moment — I’ll get them !” 
Crane cried. He raced back to the 
screen of the telescope, his eyes fran- 
tically searching the fine network of 
lines across that gave a ship’s position. 

“Coordinates 283-B, 477-X, and 

22-Q!” he shouted hoarsely. 

L AVER’S eyes showed the struggle 
of his darkening mind against 
death, the effort at calculation. 

“Rocket controls 5, 6 and 7 to Posi- 
tion C for fifteen minutes,” he muttered 
finally. “Control 12 to Position A for 
same time.” 

The last words a mere gurgling mur- 
mur, Laver’s head sank back, his eyes 
closing. But Crane was already wildly 
flinging the rocket controls over. 

There was no sound. There was no 
air out there to carry sound from the 



rocket-tubes far out in the mirror’s rim 
that had begun to blast and push the 
mirror’s edge around in space. 

It was turning majestically, slowly, 
in space. Rab Crane, hunched at the 
telescope screen, could see the giant 
beam of awful heat slowly wheeling, its 
end cutting across the icy south polar 
regions of Earth, then cutting far out 
into space as it wheeled like a colossal 
sword of fire. A gigantic, flaming 
finger, lifting from Earth to point back 
toward those onrushing cruisers. 

Rab’s eyes, his whole soul, hung 
upon the chronometers as the minutes 
ticked. Came the fifteenth minute — 
and he jammed shut the controls he 
had opened and adjusted those others 
that Laver had named. The mirror’s 
slow shifting movement came to a halt. 

Crane’s eyes leaped to the telescope 
screen at the same instant. He saw — 
annihilation! The giant beam of ter- 
rifically concentrated heat from the 
mirror was just catching the onrushing 
Mercurian ships. As it caught them, 
they puffed into fire and vanished. 

Crane staggered back from the con- 
trols and stumbled over to Laver. 

“Laver, you did it!” he cried. “The 
ships are destroyed! And Earth will 
be sending a whole squadron of our 
own cruisers out here at once, to inves- 
tigate the turning of the mirror. The 
mirror’s safe now.” 

Laver’s eyes did not open. His lips 
murmured something that sounded 
like, “Glad — ” Then they were still. 

Crane slowly folded the dead officer’s 
hands, and covered his body with his 
coat. Then the haggard TSS man 
went over to the telescope screen to 
watch for the cruisers from Earth. 





A BRAND-NEW, FASCINATING FEATURE 



By J. B. WALTER 



THE VOICE A MOTHER 
WOULDN’T -KNOW! 

A SPARROW can be taught to sing 
like a canary ! Ornithological 
psychologists believe that the tendency 
of birds toward vocalization is inheri- 
ted, but the quality of the notes is de- 
termined largely by environment. Bal- 
timore Orioles kept alone and out of 




hearing of other birds developed a 
novel trill of their own, utterly differ- 
ent from that characteristic of their spe- 
cies. In another experiment, some 
young sparrows from the wilds were 
placed under the care of a canary, in a 
room with canaries. The sparrows 
learned more or less thoroughly the 
arias of the yellow songsters with 
whom they associated. 

LIGHT READS TO THE BLIND! 

S CIENCE has found a way to make 
light read to the blind. While 
books printed in Braille or one of the 
other “raised letter” systems have been 
of tremendous value in opening the 
world of literature to those afflicted by 
the loss of sight, this method has the 
obvious disadvantages of requiring 
long and difficult training, expense lim- 
iting its applicability and the bulk of 
the volumes produced. 

A recent invention called the “Scan- 
ning Eye” meets these difficulties and 



overcomes them. It uses the ordinary 
printed book read by the sighted, trans- 
lating the black letters into sound. A 
tiny beam of light dances over the 
printed page while a sonorous and 
pleasing voice calls out to the reader 
each letter, thus spelling out the pas- 
sage. 

This ingenious device is, of course, an 
adaptation of the photo-electric cell — 
one of the many electrical relay combi- 
nations that are changing so much of 
modem life. 

Books printed in completely phonetic 
languages, such as German, could be 
read syllable by syllable, or word by 
word, by the “Scanning Eye.” Unfor- 
tunately, this method is not practicable 
in English, where a single combination 
of letters may have three or more dif- 
ferent sounds, as for example “ough,” 
while others are altogether silent. 

THE LAWS OF CHANCE ARE 
UNALTERABLE 

T he game of roulette being a game 
of chance, it is governed by some 
of the unalterable rules of probability. 
Players are always attempting to “fig- 
ure out a system” to beat the game by 
close observation of many coups ; some- 
times they are led into error by drawing 
erroneous conclusions from such obser- 
vations. One notes after watching 
many coups that red will turn up as 
often as black; therefore, if red should 
turn up say six consecutive times, 
everyone wUl immediately play black 
on the next play, thinking they are 
playing an absolutely safe game since 
series of seven reds have occurred very 
rarely. 

Actually, the chance of black turning 





SCIENTIFACTS 



53 



up on the next turn is an even one. The 
explanation of this error lies in the fact 
that while series of seven reds are very 
rare, series of six reds and a black are 
also very rare but do not attract the 
attention as much as the former series, 
and so are not as readily observed. 

A HALF-MILE CUBE CAN HOLD 
EARTH’S POPULATIONS! 

W HEN we hear people speak of 
the overcrowding of various cit- 
ies and various countries, it should be 
interesting to point out a recent obser- 




vation. If the 2,000,000,000 (estimated 
population) inhabitants of our planet 
were assumed all to measure 6 ft. tall, 
1% ft. wide, and 1 ft. through (larger 
than average measurements), they 
could all be placed in a cube measuring 
Vz mile in each direction ; furthermore, 
this cube could be placed in a comer 
of our Grand Canyon and scarcely be 
conspicuous ! 

YOU CAN BE IDENTIFIED EASILY 

W HEN thinking of positive iden- 
tification one usually thinks of 
fingerprints; however, there are many 
other ways in which the individual can 
be identified definitely. Fingerprint- 
ing came into vogue because of its sim- 
plicity of technique and because of its 
early classification (Bertillon). Each 
person presents many other character- 
istics that are completely individual, 
but are not available for. general use 
because of lack of knowledge of these 
identifying features and because of lack 
of a proper classification. 

Recently, there has been introduced, 
a classification involving the photo- 
graphs of the blood vessels of the ret- 



inas of the individual’s eyes. Each 
photograph is characteristically differ- 
ent and, if classified properly, can be 
used to identify positively its individual 
owner. The advantages of this method 
lies in the fact that the blood vessels 
of the retina cannot be temporarily 
obliterated as can the whorls on the 
tips of the fingers (such obliteration 
has been done by our modern criminals 
by means of acid and surgery). 

More recently it has been discovered 
that the record of the electrical waves 
produced in the skull by one’s thought 
waves is distinctly varied and as such 
can be used to identify the individual. 
When more work has been done in this 
field and when a classification is even- 
tually introduced, the method will be 
available for practical use. 

THE "SWELLED-HEADED" 
PUBLIC 

I T has been known for some time 
that the characteristics of races 
change under certain influences, but 
such change is gradual and takes place, 
at least, over generations. 

However, recently a change has been 
noted that has occurred within a com- 
paratively short period. This time the 




hat-makers of Great Britain have ob- 
served that the sizes in demand by their 
customers have changed from 6Vz and 
6% to 7 and and even 7^2, indi- 
cating a definite increase in the size 
of the craniums of our British cousins. 
Anthropologists have been put to work 
on this problem and ^hey feel that such 
change is not the result of any external 
influence, but rather the result of much 
greater thinking that the present-day 
British subject is forced to do. 



More SCIENTIFACTS in the Next Issue 




DOUBLE MINDS 



Penton and Blake, Interplanetary Explorers Exiled From 
Earth/ Match Wits with the Dual-Brained 
Denizens of the Solar System’s 
Larsest Satellite I 



By JOHN W. CAMPBELL, JR. 

Author of "The Brain Stealers of Mars" “The Mightiest Machine,” etc. 



CHAPTER I 

Prisoners on Ganymede 

‘‘■■^’HOLKUUN’S coming back,” 
Ted Penton sighed. “Maybe 
JB- he meant it.” 

Rod Blake stirred resUessly on the 
bunk. 



“Will you make your news reports 
more explicit? You have your mug 
against the only clear spot on the damn 
glass door. Which one of those ani- 
mated beanpoles is P’holkuun?” 

“How can I describe him? He’s a 
Ganymedian jailer, to you. They all 
look alike. Since we are the first human 
beings ever to see Ganymedians — or 



64 





Si A Complete 
Novelette 



Scientific 

Adventure 






The angry mass of protoplasm charged at them, 
65 






56 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



Ganymede itself — there aren’t any 
words in the language to describe him. 
He is seven feet three inches tall, 
weighs about one hundred and fifty — 
or he would on Earth. He has that 
attractive green hair they all have, and 
he is wearing a Shaloor guard’s uni- 
form. He is shooing away our other 
guard.” 

“I guess he is as good an orator as 
you were,” Blake grunted. “In five 
minutes you learned their language, 
found his political opinions, and had 
him sold on you to start a revolution, 
Man, you are political dynamite !” 

“Political atomic power,” Penton re- 
plied sourly. “I got us kicked out of 
Earth first for experimenting with the 
stuff. Kick number one ; we get in the 
soup on Mars. Head for home, and all 
Earth turns out a great welcome for us 
— twenty-one gun salutes. Only they 
forgot to take out the sixteen-inch 
shells. They still don’t want us. It 
was easier here. P’holkuun’s a member 
of the rebel party, and the mind-read- 
ing stunt I learned from the Martians 
helped me make friends with him.” 

“Penton,” suddenly whispered the 
thin, squeaky voice of the friendly jailer 
outside, “the Shaloor have investigated 
your space ship again. They are 
afraid.” 

“They are wise,” replied Penton 
grimly. “If they disturb the atomic 
balances I have established in the en- 
gines, they’ll blow this whole satellite 
clear out of Jupiter’s system. They 
haven’t a glimmering of an idea what 
forces I use.” 

“They don’t believe you. They say 
you are a liar.” The jailer, a Lanoor, 
sounded doubtful himself. 

“They wanted me to take them in it 
out into space,” went on Penton. “If 
they know more about my machine 
than I do, why don’t they build one 
like it, and go out in their own ma- 
chine? You don’t even have the words 
atomic power and electricity in your 
language.” 

P’holkuun shook his head slowly. 

“You do not understand. Ten years 
ago, the first Shaloor was made. He 
was a Lanoor, but he invented an oper- 
ation, and tried it on a friend, then the 
friend did it to him. The brain is 



divided into two halves, only one of 
which ever works in thinking. If, how- 
ever, a man is injured so the half he 
is using is destroyed, then the other 
half works. The Shaloor found out how 
to make both halves work at once. The 
brain is made up of thousands and thou- 
sands of individual cells, each one help- 
ing to think. When the Shaloor doubled 
the number of.thinking cells that work, 
he became, not twice as brilliant, but 
over ten thousand times as keen- 
minded. With two factors, A and B, 
you can make only two combinations: 
AB and BA. With twice as many fac- 
tors, you can make far more than twice 
as many combinations. 

“In ten short years the Shaloor over- 
threw our rulers, developed a new civil- 
ization. They invented the shleath, 
and a thousand new vegetables and new 
animal foods. They will be able to 
learn your secret shortly. Some day 
our rebellion may succeed.” 

“The Shaloor are not omniscient. 
You are needlessly afraid of them.” 
Penton snapped. 

T he Lanoor’s big, broad face split 
in a slow grin. 

“You are in jail, Urd-mahn, thanks 
to the Shaloor.” 

“They trapped us by treachery — ” 
“The Shaloor are always treacher- 
ous. It is intelligent, they say.” 

“They will find it most unintelligent 
when my people come ten months from 
now with ships that can wipe out this 
city in a moment’s time. We will so 
disturb the Shaloor that your waiting 
rebellion can succeed.” Their jailer 
did not know that they had been exiled 
from Earth. 

“Their gas — ^their gas always stops 
us. And the sbleatb. No man can 
face that — ” The guard’s ruddy face 
went pale at the thought, and Penton 
cursed silently that his very fear made 
his mind unreadable, even to the an- 
cient method the Martians had learned 
and recorded ten thousand years ago in 
the ancient museums he had recently 
plimdered. He could only catch vague, 
formless jellies wavering in a cloudi- 
ness of fear as the mental image. 

“We have an older knowledge,” Pen- 
ton said shortly. “But do as you will. 



THE DOUBLE MINDS 



57 



We will be out in a day’s time, if the 
Shaloor have not first released the 
frightful energies of our ship in their 
blunderings.” 

“I — I will talk with my comrades to- 
night,” P’holkuun said, and moved 
down the corridor uneasily. Penton 
turned away from the little window in 
the frosted glass of the door. Though 
his Earth-bred strength was five times 
that of a Ganymedian, it was still far 
less than was needed to break down the 
thick, tough glass. Penton looked at it 
disgustedly. 

“Damn,” he complained mournfully. 

“I take it he said, ‘No’.” Blake 
looked morosely at the door. “Nice 
birds they have here. You greet ’em 
friendly, they wave and grin, and 
beckon from airplanes while you come 
down out of space. You step out — and 
plunko— they trap you with glass 
bombs of sleep-gas. Ah, well — I can’t 
sleep, I can’t smoke, and I can’t move, 
I—” 

“Oh, shut up. Here, I’ll make you 
sleep. Hypnotism.” 

“Can you? Say — that’s right, you 
learned a lot of dope from those Mar- 
tian records. Go ahead.” Blake lay 
back thankfully. Ten seconds later he 
realized his error. He was helplessly 
hypnotized, and already he recognized 
the flood of strange thoughts pouring 
into his mind, other-worldly ideas. 
Penton was giving him knowledge of 
the Lanoorian language by the tech- 
nique the Martians had developed ten 
thousand years ago : hypnotic teaching. 

Blake was about to acquire a com- 
plete understanding of Lanoor, in about 
five minutes. Also, all the headaches 
that he would normally have had learn- 
ing a language would be equally con- 
centrated into one great-granddaddy 
of all headaches. He struggled to free 
his will — 

* * * 

The sun was shining in through the 
whole rear wall of the cell, which meant 
that it was day again, and he had slept 
for hours. 

“No,” said Penton’s voice. But it 
was Lanoor he was speaking, and Blake 
moved his head gingerly and groaned 
audibly. Y es, the headache was there. 

“No, I’ll have to make the medicine 



myself. Tell them Blake is dying, 
that the air does not suit him. Hear 
him moan? Tell the Shaloor that I 
must have that stuff.” 

Blake saw a shadow, distorted by the 
uneven glass of the prison wall, move 
off. Penton turned toward him. 

“Excellent, Rod, excellent. Nothing 
could have been better timed. I didn’t 
know you were awake ; and your help 
was really welcome.” 

“Help? Help, you cosmic blight! 
My head.” 

“I know. But we needed the stuff. 
Now he’ll get it for us. You know 
their language now — we’ll get the stuff 
I want.” 

“I’ve got a headache. Go away and 
shut up. Oh-h-h.” 

H e dozed, for when he opened his 
eyes again, his head pained less, 
and Penton was hard at work with 
some glass flasks, pungently odorous 
liquids, and various powders. 

“Will you groan?” asked Penton 
pleasantly. “The guard is watching 
and listening.” 

Blake obliged. “Oh-h-h — what in 
double blazes — ah-h-h-h — are you 
stewing? It smells like fury!” 

“I’m too busy trying to figure out 
something. Keep groaning, by the 
way. This is medicine for you. You’re 
suffering because the atmosphere does- 
n’t suit you. I can stand it, because 
I’ve had a dose of this atmospheric- 
cosmic-telluric acclimatizer.” 

“Groan? Great God, if it’s anything 
you cooked up, I’m going to recover 
right here and now. You’re no medi- 
cine man !” 

“I am now. The stuff is now pre- 
pared. Hm-m-m — ” he passed it under 
his nose. A mixture of pleasant, fruity 
smells and peculiarly rank, acrid odors 
pervaded the room. From a bottle he 
measured out a munber of gritty crys- 
tals, then from a secfend bottle of green 
glass, a few more. He sniffed the re- 
sults, tasted it. 

“Try a bit,” he grinned at last, and 
passed it over. “Guaranteed to make 
you lick tigers like loll5qjops.” 

Blake took it at arm’s length, and 
sniffed. His eyes widened. He tasted 
it. His mouth widened in a grin. 



58 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



“What stuff ! Happy days will come 
again.” A considerable portion of the 
potent brew went down. Blake re- 
linquished it only under protest. “All 
right, but explain the ingredients.” 

Penton helped himself to a bit, and 
nodded. 

“Citric acid — crystallized acid of 
lemon. Sucrose— commonly sold un- 
der the name sugar. Ethanol — other- 
wise ethyl alcohol. Carbonic acid — in 
no way related to the one with an ‘1’ in 
it — better liked as soda water. I 
thought the combine might strike you 
where you needed it, and an 3 nvay, I 
needed the rest of the brew.” 

Penton looked at, but did not han- 
dle, a large flask in which a watery 
liquid was stirring slowly about a white 
powder. Fully a gallon of the stuff 
was there already, and he cautiously 
added more from a large beaker, and 
more powder from a glass bottle. 

“And that?” asked Blake. 

“The universal solvent. An}rway, it 
should get us out of here, I believe. 
I—” 

With a soft clank, the large glass 
block disintegrated, and its contents 
spewed out over the metal table, and 
down the glass wall of the cell. The 
table had been in a corner, and the ad- 
jacent walls and floor were liberally 
flooded with the deluge. An intense, 
suffocating odor sprang up at once. 
Blake pulled his feet off the floor has- 
tily, and looked in dismay at Penton. 

“I thought it would,” Penton sighed. 
“It does that,” 

“What?” 

“Be patient, and we’ll see. You are 
supposed to be recovering from a fatal 
illness. I’ve got to tell the guard it’s 
according to plan.” 

The guard was already unlocking the 
door, for he had seen the deluge. Pen- 
ton waved his hands. 

“Keep out — ^the vapors — Blake must 
breathe the vapors!” 

The unsuspecting guard had the door 
somewhat open, but getting the said 
vapors himself, he promptly decided 
that Blake was welcome to them and 
departed. 

“Look, Rod, they have just turned on 
the corridor lights !” explained Penton. 

“Which reminds me to ask why you 



said even before we landed, that they 
didn’t have electricity. Those may not 
be electric gas-glow tubes, but they’re 
certainly one swell imitation.” 

P ENTON laughed. “Wrong, two 
out of two. I said they didn’t have 
electricity before we landed because 
the instruments on the ship indicated 
no sign of electric or electro-magnetic 
energy of any sort produced by man on 
the whole planet. As for the lamps, 
electric gas-glow tubes are a poor imi- 
tation of them. Those are biological 
lamps. They use some kind of a bac- 
terial ferment, and they turn them on 
by letting air into them. Notice how 
dark it is already? Small world turn- 
ing rapidly on its axis, with a thin at- 
mosphere. It will be dark in another 
quarter hour. Better pack your belong- 
ings, because, m’ lad, we are going 
out.” 

“How? Did P’holkuun finally decide 
to throw in with us?” 

“No, not yet, anyway. I didn’t think 
he would until we got out of here on 
our own legs. P’holkuun isn’t going 
to ask help from somebody who is tied 
worse than he is. But — he’ll help 
plenty once we get out of here.” 

“Yes — ^but how? Don’t tell me we 
can go out through those solid walls !” 
“Yes, through the walls. It’s dark 
enough now, I suppose. Rod, will you 
wield that hefty hoof of yours against 
the wall in the neighborhood of that 
table, while I obscure the window in 
the door? I would have a chat with 
our jailer. Don’t shake the building, 
though. You should go right through 
the wall. Easy.” 

Blake moved the table. Penton’s ar- 
gument with the jailer was about some- 
thing impossible, and very loud, but 
Blake paid little attention because of 
the way the wall was acting. The clear, 
hard glass was crumbling under his 
foot into sand. It broke out in great 
chunks, and crumbled as though his 
foot were a pile-driver. In utter sur- 
prise he felt his boot sink into the stuff 
— and through it! In almost no time, 
Penton had so annoyed the jailer that 
the man walked down the corridor to 
avoid Penton’s voice, and Penton 
walked with Blake through the wall 



THE DOUBLE MINDS 



59 



of the prison. 

“Jupiter will rise in about two hours. 
When he comes up you won’t need to 
be told, but you will need to be hidden,” 
said Penton. “We appear to the local 
populace as inconspicuous as a pair of 
orang-outangs walking down Fifth 
Avenue arm in arm. And slightly less 
harmless. To them our build is the 
quintessence of horrible, brute 
strength. 

“So when Jupiter’s great bulk comes 
over the horizon, the reflected light is 
going to make us conspicuous, and not 
a sight to calm the nerves of nice, old 
Lanoorian ladies. Further, thanks to 
P’holkuun’s thoughts, I know that our 
ship is somewhere on the far side of 
the city. So come on. First we have 
to get away from this neighborhood.” 



CHAPTER II 
The Doughballf 



T ed Penton sailed over a twenty- 
foot wall surrounding the jail, and 
Blake found it easy to follow because 
of the satellite’s low gravity. 

“What — ” he panted after a moment, 
“is the secret — of the wall — stop run- 
ning — you fool — I’m winded.” 

“The air’s too thin — to keep — ^it up,” 
agreed Penton. In the darkness of a 
tiny alle3rway they stopped. “The stuff 
I used was crotonaldehyde — an organic 
liquid — derivable from — alcohol. 
Works on the fact — that glass is not a 
true — solid.” 

Blake stared at him, panting. 

“ Y eah. Stone walls do — not a prison 
make — nor iron bars a cage. So what 
is it? That glass wall looked solid 
enough — it had me bluffed.” 

“Puffed, did you say? Glass is a 
liquid. Liquid got so cold it has turned 
stiff — past the gooey stage. Croton- 
aldehyde has the curious property of 
turning it solid. Long heating and 
cooling does it too, that’s why kerosene 
Icimp-chimneys used to get so fragile. 
Solid glass is extremely brittle and as 
strong as so much sand. When that 
stuff turned it solid it took all the 
strength out of it. We have to steal 



a car. Damn. No running or we will 
pant so loud they’ll hear us a block 
away. They have cars. There ought 
to be one around here somewhere, and 
let us pray they haven’t invented locks 
for ’em.” 

They covered six blocks before they 
saw a rounded, bulky lump in the road 
that was evidently an automobile. 

“You drive. Rod,” Penton said softly. 
“You are a better driver than I, and a 
better mechanic. Can you figure it 
out?” 

“Lord help us, no! Is it electric? 
No. Steam? Compressed air? Gaso- 
line? Diesel? How in blazes should I 
know? Where’s the engine? Both 
ends look alike. I have never seen any- 
body drive one, and I don’t even know 
which end is front. Is this one a steer- 
ing lever, and-r-well, what’s that other 
one back there? I — ” the car jerked 
ahead suddenly. 

“Oh,” said Penton, “you do know 
how to start it.” 

Blake was too busy hanging on. He 
held the lever grimly in his hand, and 
pulled. 

“What do I do to stop it?” He tried 
pushing the lever. The car showed 
capabilities of speed. He pressed in 
a different direction. The car stopped 
accelerating but by no means slowed 
down. The quite accidental fact that 
the road was straight helped. His foot 
felt feverishly for a brake pedal — and 
the car swerved aside into a pole. 

“I think,” said Penton, bending the 
door frame out of his way, “that they 
probably have a more comfortable, if 
no more effective means of stopping 
them. They can’t have light poles 
everywhere. We had better hurry else- 
where. Someone will certainly investi- 
gate that crash. An3rway, the next car 
we try, you’ll know they steer with 
their feet, and not try to jam on the 
brakes with the steering gear.” 

“The next one,” said Blake clearly, 
“you will know tjiey steer with their 
feet. And I’m going to take time out 
to find out how in blazes they work. 

I just took hold of that handle — and 
away she went. No starter — nothing I” 

Six blocks away they found another 
car, not exactly like the first, but sim- 
ilar, seven seats instead of five. Blake 



60 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



. looked at Penton. 

Penton hesitated, and looked about 
him. Surrounding warehouses loomed, 
dark masses against a star-studded sky. 
A tiny, bright moon rode high in the 
sky, and lower was another, even 
smaller. Giant worlds, as large as the 
planet they rode, but ^millions of miles 
distant in Jupiter’s titanic gravity field. 
But their light was enough to show dim 
alleyways and fences made of wire and 
some woven, fibrous stuff. 

“Right, Rod. Check the control sys- 
tem and let it go,” Penton said softly. 

F ive seconds later Blake was in 
and after a few more moments of 
swift examination he started from the 
curb. The machine started with a swift, 
smooth rush, and the soft whirr of the 
blowers and pumps was the only sound 
from the engine. Rapidly Blake got 
the feel of the apparatus, the two steer- 
ing pedals, the lever that controlled its 
speed by increase or relaxation of pres- 
sure on the grip. Relaxed, it became a 
brake of fair power; squeezed, the car 
shot forward with amazing accelera- 
tion. 

“All right. I have it now. We need 
lights, and I didn’t figure them out. 
They must have a dash control.” 
Penton worked swiftly over the dash 
with the aid of the hand flash he car- 
ried. Suddenly lights blazed on, and 
Blake sped on his way with more as- 
surance. 

Blake squeezed harder on the con- 
trol, and the silent engine behind drove 
the car forward with a powerful, steady 
push. Rapidly, fully forty miles an 
hour, they cruised through the deserted 
district. The street that had led them 
straight toward their goal came to an 
end, and Blake hesitated at the curve, 
muttering at the inefficient brake sys- 
tem. Then he went right. Presently, 
on a more traveled street, he went left. 
More cars were about them. 

As they headed toward the city, traf- 
fic became heavier, and Blake anxiously 
watched the system, trying to learn the 
rules of the road. They drove on the 
left, moving at a lively clip. 

“They have traffic lights,” said Pen- 
ton quietly. “I just spotted the damn 
things. It’s a block system, like New 



York’s. See — ^way up ahead you can see 
that yellow light. That’s stop. Red is 
go. We’ll have to stop at this next 
block.” 

But traffic became heavier. Lights 
became confusing. And suddenly a 
bright flush crept over the sky, and al- 
most immediately Jupiter loomed on 
the skyline. Five blocks later they were 
hopelessly caught in a traffic jam in 
the heart of the city. Drivers near them 
looked — and left. Beside them they 
had seen, driving a car, two monstrous, 
squat beings, with great ropes and bun- 
dles of inhuman muscles. To them 
they appeared like horrible animals in- 
credibly become intelligent. 

Blake opened his door. 

“All off here. Transfer. Last stop. 
We can’t drive through those stalled 
cars, and somehow, I don’t think the 
drivers are coming back.” Penton got 
out the other side, and silently they 
walked up the line of traffic. Behind 
them doors opened hastily, and feet 
scuttled away. Blake crept up beside 
the leading car, a gleaming, seven-pas- 
senger sedan, and rose abruptly at the 
driver’s window. He looked quietly at 
the occupant. A grey-headed Lanoor 
stared back, and slowly his eyes closed. 
He shook his head and opened them 
very wide, then beat it. 

Penton climbed in first, and Blake 
took the late occupant’s seat. 

“The lights have changed,” Penton 
said. They made nearly fifteen blocks. 
Then they changed cars again, taking 
the first car in the line. Twelve blocks 
later they were again forced to walk 
up the line — and a dozen glass bubbles 
of sleep-gas crackled around them. 
Blake leapt upward, to the top of a 
car, and crashed through into the seat. 
He settled back in sleep before he could 
extricate himself. 

Penton, who had started down the 
road in great leaps, looked back — and 
leaped faster. A two-foot thick, doughy 
mass was rolling of its own volition in 
his direction. He turned down a side 
street and increased his pace. He be- 
gan to jump from side to side but it 
caught up with him. 

( 

I T was soft, and squashy, but rub- 
bery. It simply clung abqut his feet. 



THE DOUBLE MINDS 



61 



and crept slowly up and over his legs, 
up his body, while he tore great holes 
in the doughiness that persistently 
grew together again. Desperately he 
drove his hand into his pocket while 
the Lanoor police ran toward him with 
their slow, exaggerated strides, gas 
bombs in hands. A glass bulb arched 
forward, but fell short of him. 

Then his hand came free with the 
flashlight as the crawling, doughy stuff 
crept about his other arm. An instant 
later the thing was bouncing and 
bounding down the street madly, from 
side to side, throwing itself in all direc- 
tions, smashing down the rapidly ap- 
proaching Lanoor, and rebounding 
with evident terror. Somehow the 
flashlight had driven it away. 

Penton loped leisurely into an alley, 
and after several blocks of leaping 
fences, circled back. A crowd of Lanoor 
guardsmen were carefully roping 
Blake. The Earthman lay inert in the 
roadway with his head thrown back, 
heavy snores gurgling forth. Penton 
walked as near as he felt was reason- 
ably safe, and looked. An empty car 
stood nearby. He headed for it. It was 
a light roadster, and after some calcu- 
lations he started it in the direction of 
Blake. The Lanoor guardsmen pep- 
pered it with glass bubbles ; two 
doughy things tried to mesh its power- 
ful wheels and were torn up, only to 
reform accidentally as one large one. 
The guardsmen scattered as the car 
rolled quietly forward and coasted to 
a stop. 

Blake had already begun to stir, 
and Penton stopped. Evidently his 
previous exposure to the gas seemed to 
confer a semi-immunity. Methodically 
he released his friend. “I think,” said 
Penton, thoughtfully, “that it is time 
to seek lodging for the day. This looks 
like a pleasantly dilapidated section.” 



CHAPTER III 
The Shleath 



P ENTON looked down the shabby 
street. His view was restricted 
somewhat, because even though it was 



the widest of numerous sad cracks in 
the even sadder wreck that had once 
been a house and now sheltered them, 
it was narrow. A Lanoor was walking 
down the far side, stumbling through 
a series of dreary mud puddles in a 
peculiarly automatonlike way. Abrupt- 
ly he halted stock still in the center of 
an unusually well developed puddle 
and shook his head slowly. It weaved 
about dangerously on the pipe-stem 
neck, and the shabbily dressed giant 
looked dazedly about him: After a 
while he started on vaguely, a gradual 
deepening of purpose putting increas- 
ing firmness in his gangling walk. 

Penton sighed and turned away. He 
nodded to Blake and sat down. 

“He’s started. He did just what I 
ordered him to. Unless some Shaloor 
for some impossible reason picks that 
one man out of all the city to practice 
hypnotism on, those hypnotic orders I 
gave him are going to work, and he will 
bring P’holkuun here. It ought not to 
take more than an hour.” 

“But will he come? And will it do 
any good if he does? He didn’t help 
us before,” protested Blake. 

“He will for two reasons. The 
chances are the Shaloor won’t know 
that trick about crotonaldehyde — I 
used something else, a catalyst that in- 
tensified the action — and they are go- 
ing to be mighty mystified as to how 
in Nine Planets and Great Spaces we 
took the starch out of that wall. 
They’ll be even more worried about 
the way that doughball they sicced on 
me backfired when I used the flashlight. 
He’ll come, and he will probably help, 
now that we have shown him we can do 
something the Shaloor can’t. I think 
we have an hour to wait.” 

They actually had less than an hour. 
A small roadster came slowly up the 
street, and stopped four or five doors 
away. The tall Lanoor got out. With 
some trepidation, evidently, he came 
over and cautiously opened the door. 

“Come in, P’holkuun. You are a wel- 
come sight.” 

“You’ve caused a great deal of trou- 
ble,” the Lanoor greeted them. “The 
Shaloor have posted many guards 
about the palace ; it has made any hope 
of a revolution useless for some time. 



•62 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



They have taken the sleep-gas throwers 
away from the Lanoor guards, leaving 
them only swords. And the shleath 
are all locked up.” 

“Is a shleath,” asked Penton 
thoughtfully, “a dougjiy thing without 
any legs, but possessed of a peculiarly 
unpleasant odor, and a miraculous 
slime?” 

“No,” the Lanoor sighed. “You have 
no idea of what shleath are. Those 
were grethlanth they turned on you 
last night. The shleath are fifty feet in 
diameter, but otherwise much like 
those things. The Shaloor are still very 
much puzzled by the way the greth- 
lanth ran away from you. They are 
fearless, and never before have they 
run from a prisoner.” 

Penton smiled, grimly. 

“That, my friend, was electricity. It 
was one of the forces the Shaloor have 
not guessed. Here, moisten your two 
fingers like this, and touch this little 
metal piece.” Penton illustrated the 
action, and the Lanoor hesitatingly 
touched the terminals of the flash. In- 
stantly he jumped three feet backward 
and fell to the floor. 

S LOWLY he sat up, shaking his 
head, while Penton and Blake 
looked at each other curiously, 

“That — that is horrible ! Put it 
away!” gasped the Lanoor. “It made 
all my muscles writhe into knots. It 
made my heart contract as though a 
giant had squeezed it. It is horrible!” 
“It is electricity,” said Penton slow- 
ly, “and you seem to be very sensitive 
to it, much more so than we are. Now, 
what did you say a shleath was?” 

“It is a great mass of protoplasm 
jelly which obeys readily the will of 
its controller,” replied P’holkuun, rub- 
bing his arm, and eyeing the flash un- 
easily. “It cannot be killed, because 
if part is poisoned that part is split off. 
If it is shot or cut, that does no harm. 
It is not affected by sleep-gas. It is im- 
mensely strong, and can assume any 
form. The Shaloor conquered the La- 
noor rulers originally by sending 
shleath up a small drain pipe in the 
form of a thread of protoplasm, and 
having it assume the form of a roller 
in the barred and defended fortress 



where the Lanoor rulers were. The 
shleath digest anything the Shaloor 
want them to. They can dissolve even 
metal. Only glass is impervious to 
them. If there is even a ventilation 
hole, the shleath can seep through.” 

“How many are there?” 

“Thousands. They use them as work 
animals when need be, because they 
can seep under a heavy stone, girder, or 
mass of metal, and gradually all come 
under it so that the mass is lifted. Or 
they can hang down as a sticky cable 
from a high place, wrap around the 
stone, and contract to lift it. If an 
ordinary shleath is not strong enough, 
four or a hundred devour each other 
and form one big one, and that does the 
work. In the last revolt, a thousand 
shleath made a ring around the whole 
Lanoor army, and contracted till they 
were just one large lump. The army 
was then part of the shleath.” 

Blake looked fixedly at Penton. 

“I think,” he said in English, “we’d 
best find the shortest route for another 
planet. I don’t like the sound of these 
over-stuffed amoebae. But I’d love to 
stack them up against the Martian 
thushoL* Couldn’t that pair have a 
time?” 

“We’ll have to get to the ship, P’hol- 
kuun. Then we can use its power to 
defeat your enemies.” 

The Lanoor shifted his feet, and 
looked across the room. 

“The ship,” he said finally, “has been 
moved to the palace. Twenty shleath 
did that last night. The Shaloor knew 
that you would make for the ship, so 
they put it where they could make sure 
you didn’t get it. They are all in the 
palace, and they have the ship in the 
inner courtyard. That is the place we 
call the court of the shleath. I do not 
know how you will get your ship. May- 
be you could make magic on a Shaloor 
as you did with the strange man you 
sent to me. The Shaloor are working to 
make defences, because they are afraid 
of you. They are even more afraid of 
the ship, so they have not touched it. 
If you can make a Shaloor do as the 

*The thushol of Mars are strange parasitic organ- 
isms. peculiar for their ability to ape the physical ap- 
pearance of anything known to nature. See “Brain- 
Stealers of Mars,” December, 1936, Theilunc Wonder 
Stories. — E d. 



THE DOUBLE MINDS 



63 



Lanoor you sent to me did, perhaps you 
can get the shleath out of the way. 
But no Lanoor can move them; they 
cannot be imprisoned ; they never die.” 
“Can you feed them until they are 
groggy?” 

“No, they just break up into more 
shleath, so there are twice as many and 
twice as hungry.” 

P ENTON looked slowly at Blake. 

“If you don’t like the shleath, 
maybe we better decide to stay here for 
a while,” he sighed at length. “You are 
sure there were not any left-over thu- 
shol on the ship? One of those Mar- 
tian beasts might seriously distract the 
Shaloor just now.” 




“When Greek meets Greek,” sighed 
Blake. “I’d love to see what would 
happen if an angry shleath met a Mar- 
tian thushol. Would the thushol turn 
into an indigestible rock, or would he 
imitate a bigger shleath and eat the one 
that had attacked him? It is a beauti- 
ful, theosophical problem as to why the 
Lord ever let anything like that 
exist — ” 

“He didn’t. The Shaloor invented 
the shleath, and from what the Mar- 
tians told us, the thushol invented 
themselves. You know, Ted, back on 
Mars old Loshthu told us all about the 
thushol. Rearrange the letters in his 
name and they practically spell thu- 
shol! I’ll bet he really was one of 
them, and was laughing up his sleeve 
at us all the while ! But that’s not the 
point. The idea is to get inside the 
ship without getting inside a shleath.” 
He turned to the Ganymedian. “P’hol- 
kuun, can you start the rebellion?” 



“Not until you can stop the shleath,” 
answered the Lanoor firmly. “The rest 
of my people won’t even talk rebellion 
until they are sure they won’t be used 
for tid-bits. You have never had a 
fifty-foot glob of jelly scrunch down on 
your best friend, and watched the ex- 
pression of horror fade from his face 
because his face was dissolving out 
from under the expression.” 

“P’holkuim, sit down a minute. I 
want to think,” said Penton gustily, as 
he squatted cross-legged on the floor. 
“I have to find out what part of our 
science will beat your science. I know 
there is some item. Tell me things. 
Can you or your men get access to a 
metal-worker’s shop? A place where 
there are all kinds of metals? And can 
you make there for me, many hundreds 
of small, metal machines? They will 
be simple, but I know a thing of science 
that will, I think, save you from fur- 
ther trouble with the shleath.” 

“We can get some metals. Not the 
yellow metal, or the heavy, kingly 
metals. Only Lanoor work in the 
metal shops, so we can make machines, 
if they are simple enough, and small 
enough to conceal.” 

“Good. Bring me, as soon as possi- 
ble, a sample of all the different metals 
you can find. And — one of those 
doughy things — a grethlanth — that the 
police set on me the other night. Can 
you do it?” 

“Yes,” said P’holkuun, somewhat 
doubtfully. “But can you do anything?” 

Penton smiled. “Friend, when I get 
into that sacred court of theirs, the 
Shaloor are going to come out of the 
palace faster than they have ever be- 
fore moved. I shall want only about 
a dozen courageous Lanoor ; all the rest 
of the rebels will stay well outside the 
palace and catch the Shaloor as they 
come out. They will come out very 
rapidly. And I would not advise any 
of your people to remain within six 
blocks of the palace.” 

“They couldn’t anyway. The Sha- 
loor live all about the palace. If you 
are sure — ” 

Blake lay down gently in the comer 
after P’holkuun went. He was tired. 
The atmosphere of the little planet was 
enervating. Furthermore, he only half 





64 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



believed in Penton, and Penton became 
as communicative as. the surrounding 
walls. 

Blake slept. He slept quite peace- 
fully until he was startled from his 
sleep by queer chirpings, cracklings, 
and loud bumpingft. He sat up, only 
to be knocked flat by a massive, doughy 
affair that smacked into him, and 
swooshily dropped over his shoulder. 
Laboriously he struggled up again and 
looked at the dirty-grey mass that was 
cavorting crazily about the floor in the 
dim light of dusk. 

E vidently P’holkuun had come 
and gone, and had supplied Blake 
with a grethlaath. 

Penton was dashing madly about the 
floor picking up something, while the 
unspeakable dirty-whiteness was dash- 
ing about twice as madly — and abrupt- 
ly dashed out of the window shrieking 
and giu"gling unhappily. 

“Well — maybe it’s — all for the — ^best. 
That’s hard work — here. Bending like 
that.” 

“What in the name of the Nine Wav- 
ering Worlds got into that thing?” 
asked Blake. “It acted as though the 
floor were red hot, and every time it 
hit it jumped higher.” 

“Copper,” said Penton, “and magne- 
sium. I wondered what pH value their 
metabolism used. Evidently it’s greater 
than seven rather than less. But zinc 
does well enough, and they can get 
that. Copper though is expensive.” 

“It may make sense, but I don’t see 
it. Where’s P’holkuun?” 

“Coming back now. His men were 
stationed outside to catch that thing 
when it got loose. I — ^here he is.” 
P’holkuim stuck his great head in. 
He looked about the very dimly lighted 
room. 

“It went out very quickly. I thought 
it might have broken away and suc- 
ceeded in attacking you as we had or- 
dered it. The men have chased it two 
blocks now, and it is still going very 
rapidly. It refuses to obey at all.” 
“That’s fine,” Penton smiled. “Did 
it attack anyone?” 

“The first one who tried to stop it. 
It simply rolled over him, and hastened 
away. What is this weapon?” 



“Make me as many hundreds of these 
machines as you possibly can, P’hol- 
kuun, and I will take the palace with 
a dozen Lanoor.” 

Penton held out a web of wiring, a 
pancake of interwoven coppery and 
silvery wires nearly eighteen inches 
across. The intricate hookup of wires 
led into a small, solid, egg-shaped mass 
at the heart of the network, an ovoid 
of black, plastic material. 

“You can make a great many, I think. 
And remember to make that whole de- 
vice exactly as I have, changing no 
slightest detail, particularly as to the 
constitution of the central mass. Is it 
understood?” 

“I will.” P’holkuun looked somewhat 
wide-eyed at the savage little device 
that had sent the utterly fearless, nerve- 
less defender of the Lanoorian peace 
scuttling out the window in such terror 
that it absolutely refused to obey or- 
ders. 



CHAPTER IV 
The White Flowers 



P ’HOLKUUN halted. Ahead, the 
narrow corridor cut through the 
solid rock turned, and beyond the turn 
it was a passageway lined with cut 
stone mortared in place. 

“We enter the palace soon. No La- 
noor is supposed to know of this corri- 
dor, as I say, and to prevent suspicion, 
the Shaloor station no Lanoor guards, 
and do not so much as guard it them- 
selves. But they have men watching 
this night beyond that wall. They are 
suspicious — almost know that rebellion 
is starting. For four days now, you 
have been free, and they have not heard 
from you, have seen no sign of your ex- 
istence. They believe you have obtained 
help, but they have received no word 
of a general uprising. And — ” he looked 
at Penton from the corner of his eyes, 
rather doubtfully — “they know that no 
dozen men can take their palace, or 
menace them.” 

“Yes. They also know that no man 
can stand against a shleath, or any save 
a Shaloor order him. They know a 



THE DOUBLE MINDS 



65 



great many things. A most surprising 
number of those things are all wrong. 
Is there a door ahead?” 

“Yes. Locked, with a heavy steel 
bolt. But — ^you said you could open 
that.” 

Penton smiled and nodded to Blake. 
Blake shifted two dozen of the flat, 
woven webs he carried to the dozen or 
so Lanoor who had accompanied them, 
each man rearranging the webs he al- 
ready carried to take on the extra. 
Then the Earthman went forward. 

The door was a secret panel on the 
other side, but from here it was obvious 
enough. A panel of thick, dense wood, 
a dark green, no doubt polished beauti- 
fully on the other side that opened into 
the main hall of the palace. 

But from this side it was rough, and 
studded with locking mechanisms. Two 
heavy steel hinges supported it, and a 
series of three steel bars a half inch 
thick, operated by levers in the manner 
of a bank-vault lock, held it in place 
with all the rigidity of the surrounding 
wall. No careless hand could detect it 
from the far side. 

Blake wrapped his Angers about the 
bars, braced his feet solidly, and pulled 
slowly, with greater and greater force. 
The mild steel gave under the strain, 
and slowly the bar backed out of the 
socket that held it. 

Just before it was free Blake trans- 
ferred his attention to the second, and 
then to the third. The Lanoorians 
listened to his panting breath, and 
watched the writhing muscles in silent 
awe. The Earthman was to them as 
imnatural as a superintelligent gorilla 
would be to us. 

Blake backed off and rested, till his 
heavy panting in the thin air of the 
little planet quieted. Finally he stood 
up again, and nodded. 

“Ready, I guess. Now, once more, 
what will we have to Idok out for, 
P’holkuun?” 

“They have guns, mostly air-pow- 
ered guns. They are almost noiseless, 
there is no smoke, the source of the 
shot cannot be detected. But they will 
not shoot through heavy cloth. The 
explosion guns do. First they will try 
the sleep-gas, until they see that we are 
immune, &anks to your discovery that 



a series of five doses made a man safe. 
Then — the White Flowers.” 

“Just what are the White Flowers?” 
asked Penton. 

P ’HOLKUUN shrugged his shoul- 
ders. 

“They used it only once. They are 
afraid of it themselves, so they will be 
reluctant to try it. It is a mold that 
turns a healthy man into a mouldering, 
putrescent corpse in thirty seconds. 
The flesh falls from his bones in white 
lumps. And anything that touches him, 
or passes near, within thirty hours — 
follows him ! So, if you see a man turn 
white, and hear his scream — there is 
no need to help such a one. Leave him 
quickly. And we must go quickly now. 

I know the way we are to go, all my 
men here do. You must stay with us; 
if you cannot, seek the innermost 
court.” 

“Good. Go ahead, Blake,” said Pen- 
ton. “I’ll take the lower half.” To- 
gether, the two Earthmen approached 
the door, and took hold. The steel bars 
popped from their sockets with a vast 
droning clatter, to vibrate like plucked 
reeds. Immediately the two men 
jumped through the opened door, the 
Lanoorians behind them. The great 
central hall was bright with the glow- 
lights, and a half-dozen Shaloor were 
streaking across the room toward them, 
drawing their gas-guns as they came. 

A shrill cry was spreading through 
the palace, echoing from room to room. 
Feet began running in unseen passages, 
and somewhere women’s shriller voices 
called out. Two Lanoor servants ap- 
peared momentarily, their eyes opening 
in surprise at the sight, then narrowing 
in sudden concentration as they van- 
ished into familiar passages. 

Blake’s arm flung back. A rounded, 
nicely weighted stone flew from it with 
the super Lanoorian force a Terrestrial 
could give it. An attacking Shaloor 
doubled with a howl* of pain and an in- 
stant later another fell with a little 
groan, the side of his head crushed in. 
Gas bombs fell about them as P’hol- 
kuun lead the way to a branching, 
wood-paneled corridor on the far side 
of the room. 

“They will concentrate to defend the . 



66 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



inner court, since it is known that you 
have come,” P’holkuim called back. 
“Hurry.” 

A pair of Lanoq^rians had spread out 
behind them, and their swords were 
flashing in efficient butchery. The Sha- 
loor were vanishing now, into the vari- 
ous rabbit-warren passages. 

P’holkuun led them at a sharp run 
down the passage, past a dozen inter- 
secting warrens and into a smaller 
passage. 

“P’holkuun!” a strange low voice 
warned softly. “Not that way, the 
gates will close. Turn aside. The third 
— right.” Feet vanished. P’holkuun 
halted in indecision. 

“I wonder if that was a Shaloor?” he 
asked unhappily. 

“It was my cousin!” exclaimed one 
of the Lanoor. “He is a secretary — ” 

They took the third to the right. 

“But I am lost now,” P’holkuun mut- 
tered. “I do not know this route. Why 
didn’t he join us to help — ” 

From a room on one side a Lanoor 
stepped out. 

“You’d probably have shot me by 
mistake. Come.” The man had two 
of the air-guns, and a blood-stained 
sword. “They are gathered to defend 
the great inner court. They have closed 
all entrances with steel grills, save the 
one that they want you to take, the 
S’logth gate. That is open — open for 
the shleath. What do you hope to do?” 

“Lead us there,” Penton smiled. 
“The sooner we reach the shleath, the 
better. What weapons have they?” 

T he Lanoor shifted his slight 
weight to his right foot. 

“Some strange things they found on 
the ship of the strangers. A little 
thing, like a pistol, or sleep-gas 
thrower. But it throws nothing, only 
light, and not bright light at that. A 
Shaloor died handhng it, and they made 
two Lanoor find out the secret. Now 
they have twenty. There is another 
thing they will use if they must, but 
they fear it, for none of us have been 
able to make it work without terrific 
explosions. But the explosions destroy 
what they hit, so they may use it even 
so.” 

“Damn,” said Penton softly. “They 



can stop the shleath with the ultra- 
violet pistols. And the atomic bullet 
guns. They might go so far as to at- 
tack the ship with them. Not even the 
ship could stand one of those atomic 
bullets. Thank God they’re still more 
afraid of them than we are. All we can 
do is try. They won’t know just what 
they are doing, and we may still get 
away with it. 

“Lead the way, man.” 

Again they started, through more 
devious, involved passages than they 
had taken before. Through rooms 
where Lanoor servants looked, saw 
them, and looked blindly away, through 
rooms where startled Lanoor women 
rose angrily from sleep, and quieted 
with a grim smile as they saw who in- 
vaded their rooms. Down narrow cor- 
ridors, through smoking kitchens. 
Down a long corridor — 

“No, I tell you, no!” a Lanoor’s 
voice shouted in exasperation. “They 
have not come this way. Why should 
they? They will go some other way if 
they have a particle of sense, and they 
will go entirely away if they Imow what 
I know.” And then came the angry 
curses of a Shaloor. Abruptly they 
dived into a side lane, and P’holkuun 
grinned. 

“The Shaloor cannot hear well. Nor 
see, for all of that. But the Lanoor 
hear us.” 

“P’holkuun! Who— ah, it is you,” 
the Lanoor’s voice continued. “They 
are waiting for you at the gate now 
with three shleath in hiding. Go back. 
You must try at some other time. The 
city has heard, and it is roaring with 
rebellion. The Shaloor are preparing 
to bring out the shleath as the crowd 
grows outside the palace. But go back. 
They are ready for you, and they have 
a new weapon.” 

P’holkuun looked at the new Lanoor 
recruit xmeasily. 

“Did you hear that, Earthman?” he 
asked Penton. 

“Did you hear of the new weapon, 
Lanoor?” returned Penton. “Do you 
think they will ever know less than 
they know now? Be less ready to meet 
you with strange weapons? Do you 
think you can ever have a better chance 
than with the men who invented the 



THE DOUBLE MINDS 



67 



weapons you fear? And know more 
about them than all the Shaloor on the 
planet? If ever in time you h^e had 
a breath of hope, you have it now. 
Come on before that breath expires.” 
Penton started on down the corridor. 
“And you don’t have to worry about 
the shleath. They will be more worry 
to the Shaloor than to you.” 

“Then stop. That is the door that 
leads to the hall of the S’logth gate. If 
you open the door, the shleath will be 
in here at once.” 

“What is out there, then?” Blake de- 
manded. 

“There are, apparently, three shleath, 
and the Lord of Worlds only knows 
how many Shaloor, waiting to shoot, 
gas, bomb, and kill us in every other 
conceivable way.” 

“Where are the Shaloor?” 

“They will be in the high gallery. 
The S’logth gate goes up three stories, 
but we are on the first, since only thus 
can one enter the inner courtyard. They 
will be on the second and third gal- 
leries, and they will be watching for 
us. We cannot enter here until, some- 
how, the Shaloor are driven out.” 

“How do we get to the third floor 
gallery, then?” 

P ’HOLKUUN looked to the Lanoor 
secretary who had joined them, 
TathuoL The man shook his head. 

“I can try. But it will do little good, 
since there we will be unable to reach 
and enter the gate we should pass 
through, because we can’t reach the 
floor. And the Shaloor may have the 
steel grills in the way.” 

“If I once get my hands on one of 
the weapons they stole from our ship,” 
said Blake grimly, “all the Shaloor on 
the planet, and all the shleath, steel 
grills, stone walls and assorted animals 
and plants won’t stop me. Just get me 
near one of those Shaloor.” 

The way was a winding, climbing 
corridor, and it led them through back 
rooms and twisting flights of stairs. It 
led them up trap-doors in closets, and 
in impossible ways. Finally Tathuol 
halted. 

“That is the door. There will be 
half a hundred Shaloor waiting for us 
out there.” 



“Don’t disappoint them, then. Come 
on!” Penton yanked open the door, 
and jumped out, low. Fully the prom- 
ised fifty Shaloor turned toward him, 
raising their guns. Instantly the walls 
were peppered with shot, and, with a 
queer hissing, droning hum, a beam of 
pale, deepest violet stabbed through 
the air. Not toward Penton, but across 
the great hallway to a hanging balcony 
on the far side! Someone howled in 
agony there, and together, Blake and 
Penton charged down the hundred foot 
length of the balcony. 

It was only some twenty feet wide, 
and between them, with P’holkuun in 
effective action, the balcony was 
cleared, in less than fifteen seconds. 
Cleared, for the Shaloor jerked and 
moved on the courtyard floor, eighty 
feet below. 

Penton stared about him. Across the 
courtyard, four similar balconies himg 
at the same level, and four more below. 
On his right, on this same side, another 
balcony clung to the dark stone wall, 
and two more on the left. Four below 
him. The great ceiling arched low 
above his head, studded with hundreds 
of glowing lights. And in the great hall 
below, three monstrous things pulsed 
and staggered, three things like green, 
gold and purple amoebae fifty feet in 
diameter. 

They were surging and wavering 
madly, and then suddenly they stopped 
and ran together. Horribly they merged 
into a single, frightful mass of pulsing, 
nauseous flesh. An oozing, angry mass 
of protoplasm, it charged for the wall, 
and miraculously sent a vast finger of 
jelly-stuff sprouting swiftly upward, 
past the balcony, toward them! 

Abruptly, Penton heard the clanking 
sounds of dropped metal, soft moans 
of terror, and scamperftig feet. The 
Lanoor were leaving. Only P’holkuun 
and a half dozen others stood, white- 
faced, beside th^ Earthmen. “The 
shleath — coming — ” said P’holkuun 
stiffly. 

Penton crouched. The wall of the 
balcony, some four feet high, was 
carved with an intricate design of 
flowers and trees, and intricate spaces 
cut through the stone. There was an 
angry silence in the court. Only the 



68 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



soft, horrible sbluffing, slobbering 
sounds of that vast monstrosity climb- 
ing the wall. It had dwindled to a 
twenty foot thing of green jelly with a 
purple, angry bruiselike knot in its 
middle, with golden thread shot 
through it. But up the stone wall, to 
within a few feeW of the balcony, the 
questing mustard-green, pseudopodal 
arm clung tenaciously to the minute 
grips it found. Penton crouched and 
waited, peering through the tiny holes. 

“Pick up three of those webs, Blake,” 
said Penton, softly. “And wait until 
that thing reaches up here.” 

S OMEHOW P’holkuun made him- 
self move. He handed Penton a 
half dozen of the flimsy, interwoven 
webs of silver and copper vrires. They 
looked like metal spider webs with 
black, rubbery spiders clumped at their 
centers. 

Then the vast arm reached up to the 
balcony. Thick fingers of slime reached 
through the openings of the balcony 
wall, and waved with a horrible sugges- 
tion of individual, hateful life. The 
great, green wave curled smoothly over 
the wall, and sprouted thick tentacles 
that stabbed out toward the Earthman 
as he rose. In his hand the flash, with 
its projecting, copper terminals, black- 
ened by the burning arc that had fused 
the lock, gleamed dimly. 

He thrust his hand toward one of 
those jelly-ropes, and braced as the 
thing clamped viscously about him. 
Then he pressed the button that shot 
fifty volts of powerful current into the 
vast mass of protoplasm. 

Somehow it screamed. The city 
quieted to that ineffable shriek. An un- 
speakable hatred was in it, and an in- 
describable terror. The rope turned 
livid yellow, and contracted so swiftly 
that the mass on the floor jerked half- 
way up the wall to meet it, and fell with 
a Uquid, splashing plop. The mass 
heaved ; it split into three separate 
pieces, then half a dozen, and they all 
howled. 

Accurately, Penton tossed one of the 
metal webs so that it fell onto the cen- 
ter of one of the pulsing, writhing 
things on the floor. The shleath 
shrieked with the same imspeakable, 



evil hatred, and the same awful terror, 
but somehow it whined; it begged. It 
scuttled into a comer and cowered 
there. 

And another one of the blind, terror- 
stricken things touched the spider of 
black, and gold, and silver. It leaped 
five feet into the air, and splintered on 
the floor. The great shleath split into 
a hundred riny things that rolled and 
scuttled and bounded with little evil 
squeaks of terror as they accidentally 
touched the black spider. 

The larger ones were coming under 
control Reluctantly, angrily they 
moved about, incorporating the smaller 
ones into their vast bulks. They joined 
again to two vast masses that charged 
for the wall. Penton dropped another 
of the webs. Then, in swift succession, 
two more. 

There was point to their anger now. 
They howled, but they howled with di- 
rected anger. From the horribly sting- 
ing balcony they turned to the masters 
that drove them on. A wave of slime 
engulfed the lower balcony directly be- 
low the Earthmen. Penton watched 
the struggling Shaloor turn horribly 
red as their mouths gaped open in the 
thick, transparent jelly. They trimed 
red, and stained the green about them, 
and struggled jerkily, then feebly ; and 
through the clouding redness that grew 
in the green jelly, vague, shadowy 
things that might have been white 
bone here, or bared vital organs there, 
began to show. 

Penton turned away. The shleath 
was stretching out an arm toward the 
nearby balcony below, where milling 
Shaloor shot hissing pistols at it, and 
finally — something white blossomed in 
the greenness. The shleath seemed to 
suck in the whiteness and engulf it, but 
the white splotch grew, and spread 
with an awesome rapidity. The shleath 
writhed and spewed out the mass of 
white and green life stuff. Then the 
rope looped out again. 

Softly violet, softly hiunming, the 
beam of one of the stolen pistols 
stabbed from the balcony. It struck 
the courtyard below, and wandered 
wildly, erratically about while the wave 
of green washed over the balcony. 
Again a white splotch blossomed, and 



THE DOUBLE MINDS 



69 



again. Twice the thing spit them forth 
with masses of its own stuff. Then the 
white blossomed on an infected Sha- 
loor, and he fell screaming, tearing at 
his leg, as the stuff whirled through 
his veins. He writhed over the edge 
of the balcony, and lay beside the white 
tufts of ejected tissue from the shleath 
white as they, and growing soft and 
downy. 



CHAPTER V 
Bifocal Vision 



A bruptly the wildly wavering 
beam of the UV pistol snapped 
out. Tensely Penton watched as a 
pseudopod of the shleath lapped up a 
Shaloor. The one with the stolen 
weapon seemed to be concentrating, his 
brows wrinkled in fear-filled thought. 
With both hands, he held the pistol, 
and abruptly swept it around the 
shleath. It exploded into flare, and the 
shleath howled in agony again. Dense, 
nauseous smoke welled up from the 
flaring spot where the ultra-violet beam 
tore into it, bubbling horribly. The 
thing dropped from the balcony, split- 
ting into a hundred parts as it fell. 
Blake spoke softly. 

“I’ve been usefully engaged. There 
are about fifty less Shaloor. They have 
been too busy to watch, and these guns 
work. There was only one UV pistol 
here, and that went over the edge with 
one of the Shaloor.” 

“P’holkuun, you said they couldn’t 
see?” Penton asked softly. “What do 
you mean?” 

“They can see. But they don’t point 
right. They never drive, they never 
fly planes. They seldom write, or do 
experiments themselves. We do not 
understand fully. But there is some- 
thing the matter with their eyes.” 
“Thank God for that,” said Penton. 
“I think I know what it is. They’ve 
joined the two halves of the brain, and 
are far more brilliant than any creature 
has a right to be, but they pay for it. 
Only one half the brain does all the 
thinking. That’s true enough. But 
both halves see, and both halves hear. 



Both halves help with moving the body 
about. Somehow, when they cross 
those two halves of the brain for greater 
keeness, they see double. They prob- 
ably hear double too. They can’t co- 
ordinate arm and eye well. They forced 
themselves to learn to move a bit, but 
they can’t make themselves see 
straight. 

“They are more intelligent, no doubt 
of that, for they have more UV guns 
than we made. They figured out that 
unknown system to that extent in one 
week’s time. But they not only see 
double, but by some psychological 
trick, they see the wrong image best! 
They missed us when we appeared sud- 
denly. That Shaloor that tried to kill 
the shleath with the UV gun shot up 
all the court but for the spot where 
the creature was. They can’t move 
quickly, and they can’t see straight. 
That gives us a far better chance, and 
changes my plans a bit. P’bolkuun, can 
we get somewhere where we can throw 
the webs into the inner court? Let’s 
finish the job.” 

Tathuol nodded. 

“Yes. Come.” He led them back, 
through twisting corridors, through 
rooms where terrified Lanoor whis- 
pered and asked questions. They had 
heard the screams of the maddened 
shleath. The news was spreading. 
Then they reached a barred gate, a 
grillwork of locked bars that closed off 
the corridor. Beyond it they looked 
into a great courtyard a quarter of a 
mile across. The vast ramifications of 
the palace surrounded it on every side. 
And in it half a hundred of the giant 
shleath wavered and stirred uneasily, 
crowding down at the gate beyond 
which they had heard the strange 
shrieks of their fellows. 

Somehow those giant masses of jelly 
had a brain and understanding. And 
they were restless. The glow-lamps 
cast only dim sparkles of light on hulk- 
ing masses of greenish jelly. And, out 
in the middle of the court, silver metal 
on the Ion, the ship that had brought 
Penton and Blake to this world, glis- 
tened faintly. 

“Oh, for the wings of an angel ! How 
in blazes are we going to get there?” 
Blake mourned. 



70 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



P ENTON began tossing the black 
and silver and gold of the spiders 
methodically through the bars. One — 
five — a dozen. Some fell short, some 
long of their mark. It was hard lo aim 
at an angle on a light wqrld of unfamil- 
iar gravity. Then two in quick succes- 
sion landed. 

“Back — back to the entranceway 
where we can get into the courtyard,” 
Penton yelled over the shrieks of the 
two monsters. A giant began stamp- 
ing. The whole palace shook to the 
thud of his tread. Then it stopped. 
Human feet began running somewhere, 
and the shouts of the Shaloor pierced 
the roaring that came from the inner 
court. Penton hesitated. Then he 
gathered all the spider webs, and threw 
3iem into the yard below, spinning 
them all over the court. Dozens of 
them skimmed into the night to fall 
with soft, clinking rustles. Three times 
he scored hits. But now restless, wan- 
dering shleatb were accidentally 
touching the stinging electric traps. 

The radiating copper and zinc wires 
reaching out from the rubber egg at 
the center were charged by the little 
battery protected in the black, elastic 
shell. The first electric batteries on 
this world! And these shleatb, the 
mighty, indestructible shleatb howled 
in malignant terror. They had no true 
skin, they were vast masses of naked, 
unprotected protoplasm. Each touch 
of those charged wires sent a minute 
electric current charging through their 
vast masses — torturing, unbearable 
current. 

It was happening there in the court- 
yard as Penton had known it would. 
The vast yard was boiling with the 
protoplasmic Titans, their weird, gold- 
shot bulks glistening in the dim lights, 
their weird, anguished cries shrilling in 
the night. Outside the palace a vast 
echo was rolling back, the vast angry 
roar of the roused Lanoor rebels. Here 
below, as the elephantine bulks of the 
restlessly moving shleatb touched one 
of the electrically charged webs, the 
shocking current made it writhe and 
heave. Frantically they sought escape, 
escape that was barr^ by the glass 
walls, by the special doors. 

Shdoor were appearing at the lower 



gates, ordering them, directing them. 
Abruptly a mighty, shining bulk rolled 
down to the pompous midget, and 
whipped him into extinction with its 
glistening pseudopod. And the Thing 
howled. A shock-disc touched it. Every 
move of its sprawled bulk touched one 
of the scattered .shock-discs. From 
other gratings about the great court 
P’holkuun’s reinforcements were toss- 
ing in the webs now; the court was 
paved with them. 

The shleatb found only one escape. 
They were dividing now, splitting and 
dwindling, splitting till their jellied 
bulks covered more, but smaller areas. 
Smaller, smaller they became as more 
and more of the webs fell. They could 
slip between them now, find some sur- 
cease from the unknown horror of elec- 
tric currents whose tiniest trickle 
made them writhe in agony. 

Penton watched in silence. The 
fifty-and seventy-five-foot Titans had 
dwindled, screaming. None was larger 
than a two-foot globe of jelly ! 

“Put on those boots,” said Penton 
softly, “and come on.” From his waist, 
he himself unstrapped the network of 
charged wires, and wrapped them 
about his legs. From his belt two sets 
of wires dangled, connecting the leg- 
gings to five tiny cells. “Now, P’hol- 
kuun, where is the man with the rope? 
We can go down there now, if we can 
open this grilL No shleatb will dare to 
touch us now. This grill is bolted in 
two places, and I think the atomic flash 
has still power enough to burn two.” 

T he atomic flashlight was changed 
now ; two heavy copper leads had 
been soldered to its terminals. As they 
touched the steel bolts, the hissing 
green flame of the copper arc shrilled 
into the metal, twice. The flash tube, 
its storage device of twisted atoms in- 
tended only for the light task of pro- 
viding illumination, hummed and grew 
warm. The bolt sputtered suddenly 
and fell molten. The lurid green flare 
ate at another bar. 

It glowed red, then white — and part- 
ed. Another — and Penton dropped the 
flash tube with a curse. It glowed for 
a moment, and died, its last dregs of 
energy exhausted. Together the Earth- 



THE DOUBLE MINDS 



71 



men heaved at the weakened grill. The 
grating moved a fraction of an inch 
protestingly, and held. Again and again 
the two men heaved; finally all the 
Lanoor who could reach it added their 
strength. 

Then, from a distant grating, a violet 
beam of death reached out, and 
crackled the stone twenty feet from 
them. 

Penton ran. “Damn,” he groaned. 
“They’ve spotted that grating, and they 
won’t let us near it now. We’ve got 
to try some other way. I wonder — ” 

He started down the corridor, turned 
back to the next grating, and tried it. 
It was locked as solidly. 



“Right, my friend,” Penton nodded 
slowly. “They will be, before the sun 
rises. But — be spry.” Penton took the 
Lanoor’s hand in a firm grasp for a 
moment, then followed Tathuol. 
Through the rabbit-warren palace they 
dodged. Once they met a searching 
party of half a dozen Shaloor armed 
with the little yellow tubes that car- 
ried the deadly White Flower — had 
kept out of sight. But Tathuol knew 
the mazelike routes of the building far 
better than did those lords by proxy, for 
their strange, crossed vision made 
walking difficult, and they hated it. 

“Beyond that turn,” the Lanoor said 
at last, “is the grating we saw the Sha- 



WHAT IS yOUR SCIENCE KNOWLEDGE? 

Test Yourself by This Questionnaire 

1 — Name two types of hormones. 

2 — What is zymase? 

3 — What are radiogens? 

A — Of what planet in the Solar System is Ganymede a satellite? 

5 — What is the light pressure of the star Rigel, in approximate figures? 

6 — At what rate is the earth moving through space, on account of its orbital speed? 

7 — What is the rate of acceleration, per second, heeded for eight minutes, to give 
a rocket ship an escape velocity ? 

8 — What is telekinesis? 

9 — Where does the temperature of absolute space exist? 

(A Guide to the Answers Will Be Found on Page 126) 



“Tathuol, can you lead me to a grat- 
ing where there are some Shaloor 
posted, at least one of whom has one 
of our weapons?” 

The Lanoor thought a moment. “I 
can lead you to the one from which 
they fired just a while ago.” 

“Good. P’holkuun, if you have a 
brave man, tell him to slay at that grate 
we left, and test it every few minutes 
until we give him the signal to stop. 
He has to keep out of the way of the 
beam, but he has to keep the man who 
is running it interested. Anybody want 
the job?” 

P’holkuun laughed mirthlessly. 

“I doubt it. Go ahead, I will take 
care of it. If my luck is bad, remember 
your promise to free my people.” 



loor fire from. I cannot guarantee that 
he is still there.” 

“Let us just hope so, then. We — 
ah, he is.” A brief, soft glare of violet 
shot out from the corridor’s end. Noise- 
lessly Penton rounded the corner, 
Blake close behind him. Four Shaloor 
stood watching, looking out across the 
courtyard to a distant gateway where 
metal bars shon^ dully red. Cracked, 
blistered stone told of the violence of 
the pistol they used. 

“He is trying to get us to melt that 
gate away,” said one of the Shaloor un- 
easily. 

“Much good may it do him. I’ll get 
him the next time he shows, because 
I haven’t changed the direction since- 
the last shot. I — ” 



72 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



Fenton’s powerful arms wrapped two 
of the bean-stalk giants while Blake 
caught the others. Instantly six of the 
Lanoor who had followed them de- 
scended and in the space of seconds, the 
Shaloor glared in anger from their 
bonds. ^ 

P ENTON examined the gun he 
held. 

“It’s one of ours. Needs a new 
charge, too ; not more than ten second’s 
life left. This one is set for steel, too, 
and we haven’t any. WeH — ” 

With a knife for a screw-driver, and 
two bits of metal in pinching fingers 
for a wrench, Fenton opened the butt 
of the weapon, and pulled out the tiny 
reel that carried the iron-wire fuel. 
Then he adjusted four tiny screws and 
tore a strip of the copper wire from his 
protective leggings. With Blake’s aid 
he stretched it cautiously. It was good 
copper, and it fined down several 
gauges before it broke. Then he in- 
serted that into the reel, and clamped 
the gun together. 

“Now, if my memory is good, and t 
have the right constants for the slow 
release of the copper’s energy, we’ll get 
out in fine style. 'And if it isn’t — ^we’ll 



of the sbleath quieted momentarily. 
Fenton picked himself up gingerly. 
“Not bad,” he said judicially, “not 
perfect, but not bad. It might have 
been, to put mildly, somewhat worse. 
We’re lucky the town’s still here.” 

Over tumbled blocks of stone that 
made a perfect ladder, the two men 
scrambled down tp the courtyard. Un- 
damaged, the Ion lay some fifty feet 
from the end of the slide that had crum- 
bled half one wall of the yard. 

It was not a path of roses. The Sha- 
loor were on the job, and only their 
incredibly confused eyesight made it 
possible. Consistently, half the beams 
and bullets tore into the enraged 
shleath behind them, and half spattered 
before them. None came near them. 

Ten feet from the entrance Fenton 
gasped, and fell. His unprotected hand 
was grabbed instantly by a sbleath, 
before Blake could lift him to his feet 
again. The touch of Blake’s boot drove 
it away as Fenton spoke: “They have 
the range. Get in that ship, you fool — 
they got my leg with a bullet.” 

“Uh-huh,” said Blake. “You talk 
funny. Hold on. Even on a light world 
you are heavy — ” 



Another Penton and Blake 
Novelette Next Issue! 



go out in fine style,” he added grimly. 

Fenton aimed the gun at the grate, 
and pulled the trigger. Instantly the 
beam shot forth, a blazing inferno of 
light that volatilized the grating al- 
most instantly, speared through to the 
courtyard below, and sent up bubbling 
smoke. The squealing anger of the 
shleath changed to a vast shrieking. 
Fenton hurled the weapon to the floor. 
Slowly a glow built up in it, a glow 
that spread from the tip of the barrel 
to the breech, and the smoke of the 
wiring rose from it, 

Blake and Fenton were two hundred 
feet down the corridor when the in- 
credible sharpness of the explosion 
wave hurled them along for twenty 
feet, like ][5eas from a pea-shooter. The 
clatter of falling masonry grumbled 
behind them, and even the steady wail 



F rom a height of some five hun- 
dred feet, Blake looked down. Then 
he turned on the spotlight, and looked 
at the courtyard below. He adjusted 
some controls, and when the spotlight 
exactly covered that yard, he pulled a 
small tumbler. The light turned vio- 
let, and the heaving, greenish floor 
turned brown and became quiescent. 
The light went out. Blake pulled the 
microphone near him, and spoke softly, 
words that roared from the loudspeaker 
in the outer skin of the ship. 

“F’holkuun, if you will come up alone 
in a plane tomorrow at dawn, we’ll 
meet you. I could take that palace 
apart, but most of the inhabitants seem 
to be your folk. In the meantime, I 
have to pull a bullet out of Fenton’s 
leg. Tomorrow at dawn, in a plane 
from the local port,” 




4 



SY J-ACH 8/ND£Q 



/ 



Atomic Power 
Could be Harneseed! 



0 (s»e 

TEASPOONFUU 
OF WATER 



0rOA)/C PO(AfER - THE TREf^ENDOUS FORCE LOCKED 
l/\JrTHIN the ficrOM. /S THOUSAtS/DS OF Ttf^ES MORE POVJERFUL 
THAN NITROzGCYCERINE . THE TOTAL ENERGY IN A TEASPOONFUL 
OF INATER WOULD EASILY POWER THE QUEEN PfARY ACROSS 
THE ATLANTIC/ 




laiAW WOULO BE . I'M it 

ABLE TO C OF^TPOC 

THE lAlEATHEA. JbK-* 

GIANT Z.ONES OF FORCE WOULD •L 
CHANCE THE WINDS TO SUIT THE NEED; 

WAFT HUGE CLOUDS OF UAPOR WHEREMER^^ 
NEEDED! OR TURN RAIN AND SNOW INTO O/S 



POSABLE UAPOR. DROUGHTS AND FLOODS.TMO 

NATURES WORST AFFLICTIONS, WOULD NO LONGER BE KNOWN/ 



MMmis endless legacy of power 
WOULD Rejuvenate industry a huf- 

OReO- FOLD-- WOULD GIVE FIANKINO 
evBPYTRiNS IT NEEDED W/rH /NFtNire- 
LY Less rpouBLE PiNO EXPENSE TRAN 
THROUGH THE USE OF COPL .OIL, AND 

electricity, civili'zation would be- 

CONiE ALf^OST COTOPLETELY TOeCRAN- 
tT.BO- there WOULD BE MUCH LEISURE. 
IT WOULD as TME GOLDEN ABE / 



CSaP would be OUTLAWED, 
BECAUSE OF THE TE RPIPIC OES- 
TRUCriVEOIESS OF THE WEAPONS 
POSSIBLE WITH ATOMIC ENERGY. 
THERE WOULD UNDOUBTEDLY BE A 
LAST WAR. FRIGHTFUL AND CATA- 
STROPHIC. AFTER. WHICH MEN 
WOULD REALIZE THERE MUST 
NEVER BE ANOTHER.' 



Next Issue: IF THE EARTH STOPPED ROTATINGI 

73 




ROUND ABOUT 
RIGEL 



Raiders Meet 
Grim 
Starlight 
Justice in the 
Interstellar 
Void 




A hideous, bulbous /ace passed a circular spaceport 



By J. HARVEY HAGGARD 

Author of "Relativity to the Rescue,” "Human Machines,” etc. 






B 



iLAZING Novas!” exclaim- 
ed Lieutenant Hermer, 
looking do'wn cautiously 
into the funnel-shaped declivity. 
“They’re hatching. It must be an in- 
cubator here on Vaporia.” 

High overhead shone the pinkish- 
hued Rigel, tiny as a child’s marble, 
yet so intensely luminous as to give 
scarcely less light than the «olar sim 
on Earth, even through the diffusing 
atmosphere of Vaporia, a cold husk of 
a former star, which just now was 
acting as Lieutenant Hermer’s prison. 

He had been marooned here a few 
hours before by two of his erstwhile 
prisoners, the Mason brothers, whose 
elusive trail of savagery and crime 
had led across space from planet to 
planet. Now he was startled at what 
was taking place in the funnel-shaped 
cleft. 

Lemon-yellow bodies writhed from 
torn yard-long cocoons; tiny yellow 
arms, legs and antennae developed as 



74 



the sun dried agglutinous coverings. 
Since hatching the figures had ex- 
panded incredibly. 

“‘What a childhood!” murmured 
Lieutenant Hermer, noting the shafts 
of sea-weed consistency that com- 
posed the outer walls of the incuba- 
tor, while it was obviously covered by 
a transparent conical roof that 
sheltered the fledgling bodies. “What 
kind of creatures are there on Vapo- 
ria ! Ouch !” 

He had leaned over a huge empty 
shell, and his hand was cut on a horny 
projection. The slope below was 
covered with empty shells, some re- 
minding him of gigantic icicles, of 
crooked tubes of a pipe organ, but all 
of them recalling to mind that an 
aqueous world had come and gone on 
cooling Vaporia. Back on Earth, 
people would have scoffed at the lav- 
ender of Vaporia’s horizon, the pink 
flower blossom zenith. 

A sulphurous wind soughed mys- 




ROUND ABOUT RIGEL 



75 



teriously through crumbling shells, 
carrying crackles and rustlings that 
hinted of unseen things moving, and a 
difference in air pressure benumbed 
the flesh. An unusual scene ; a terrible 
one when the outer flesh was crying 
for nourishment. 

Two possibilities. One to die here 
and end the career of an officer of the 
Space Guard. Another to learn to eke 
sustenance from this bizarre environ- 
ment ? And a third — 

Eon Hermer would give a good 
slice of his life to get his hands 
around the necks of the Mason 
brothers. A short while before, he 
had been their captor, with the ovoid 
space patrol vessel as their prison, but 
the two criminals had loosed a stupe- 
gas that had overcome the Space 
Guard officer. 

Yet before they marooned him, he 
had secretly managed to destroy the 
element tanks wherein lay the pre- 
cious source for water. Before they 
left Vapofia for a flight across space, 
they would have to make another 
landing to restore the missing ele- 
ments. 

L ieutenant hermer had a 

slim chance of stumbling on 
them as they did so. He had his bare 
fists, a compact, space-hardened body, 
and a small dissembler revolver that 
had been concealed in his clothing. 
Three precious charges reposed in the 
diminutive chambers of the gun, each 
of which would sweep all matter aside 
in a foot-wide swath before the pro- 
jector. 

The gun was blue metal glyzite, 
blue like the glittering insignia over 
his left breast. The rocket and shoot- 
ing star of the Space Guard. He un- 
fastened the emblem, pocketed it. Its 
polished gleam might catch an inimi- 
cal eye here in this world of unknovm 
terrors. Only a fool courts danger. 

An ear-splitting scream of greed 
and triumph halted, froze him to the 
spot. There, scrambling dovsm the 
opposite side of the funnel-shaped 
cleft, raced a green monster that de- 
fied his sense of comparison. A mas- 
todonic myriapod, each cylindrical 
leg a foot in diameter. A head that 



terminated in a monstrous bifu^ated 
beak, swung on a flexible neck. Huge 
boulders and shells sprayed from 
groveling splay-toed feet. 

Eon Hermer knew a moment of un- 
paralleled fear, even though he became 
aware that the globular eyes, pro- 
truding high in the beak, were focused 
on the incubator of little yellow men. 
Avalanching down, the beak crushed 
the transparent conical roof, and be- 
gan to snap up the xanthic men, rear- 
ing its head viciously to gobble them 
down. Their frantic cries sounded 
pitiable and infantile. 

It was a soldier of space that re- 
sponded almost instinctively. The 
terrestrial knelt and discharged the 
dissembler weapon. 

For one instant, striated lines of 
violet barreled out. A foot-wide 
swat of nothingness emptied out of 
the deradiated atoms of air and green 
flesh. Outside atmosphere, rushing 
into the dead vacuum, clapped to- 
gether and resoimded like thunder. 
Sand rustled up with the air-suck, re- 
vealing his strategy in kneeling. 

Three giant legs of the myriapod 
had been destroyed. The beaked 
head dropped a nymphlike troll in 
mid-air. It wabbled hesitantly, 
sighted the officer abruptly and 
charged across the badly crushed in- 
cubator. 

He fired again, but felt his finger 
tremble on the focus, and it was a 
clean miss. He couldn’t have missed 
that last shot. The myriapod occu- 
pied most of the horizon. The stri- 
ated convolutions appeared, followed 
by the whipcrack of thunder, and 
quieted to reveal a collapsed bundle 
of greenish flesh, sliding down the 
declination. 

Eon Hermer flimg the dissembler 
weapon aside disgustedly. Its three 
blasts were gon|, Ibaving but a useless 
chunk of metal as protection against 
a strange world of such ferocious 
denizens. Out of the strange horizon 
came startled cries and eerie squeaks, 
revealing that other beings had been 
aroused. Turning swiftly, he ran along 
a rude gravelly runway, his curiosity 
sated ytterly concerning the mal- 
formed inhabitants of this dead star. 



76 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



H e stiunbled over what looked like 
a low shrub. Something clung, 
his ankle twisted. He went down, 
glimpsing a crustaceous valve open- 
ing from the rocky surface, a sluglike 
being {hat stirred ponderously and 
spat forth a few drops of oily liquid 
that struck his bare hand and burned 
hotly up the nerves. He tried to move 
his arm, and his opposite leg moved. 
His body jiggled erratically as though 
afflicted with St. VitUs dance. The 
few drops of poisonous liquid had 
short-circuited his nerves in such a 
fashion that his thought commands 
became hopelessly sidetracked along 
the nerve chains. 

Helpless horror overcame him as a 
row of gaping mouths opened like raw 
wounds for his traitorous flesh. His 
last memory was of a ribboq of orange 
light bathing his attacker fluorescent- 
ly. Then ecstatic envisionment. Yel- 
low wings, beating against a pinkish 
background. Memories of long 
months, following the elusive Masons 
across interplanetary space. A more 
brilliant dream persisted. 

That of a woman seated on the ruins 
of a wrecked space ship, half buried in 
sand. Broken bits of metal stuck up 
into the sky. Twisted girders like 
metallic entrails. More terrible 
though, was the respectful esteem of 
the strange yellow men who formed a 
large circle about the space ship, with 
jagged vitreous pikes on guard. Yet 
she was quite terrestrial when she 
smiled. Dark eyes. Hair with the 
lustrous yellow of sodium flames. 

“You’re coming around, Captain,” 
she said. “I’m glad you came for me 
at last.” Her tones shattered unreal- 
ity. 

“Came for you!” exclaimed Eon 
Hermer dazed. “Who are you?” 

Her lips became a small impatient 
“o”. “I’m Jewel Collahan,” she said. 
“And you’re of the Space Guard. I 
know I’d be missed sooner or later.” 
Then it wasn’t a dream! The girl 
stiffened a bit haughtily. 

“You spoke your thoughts aloud. 
May I take that as a compliment?” 
On his feet. Eon Hermer rubbed his 
head wonderingly, 

“You can, at that,” he said after a 



second look. “But don’t get me 
wrong. I’ve never heard of you, and 
I’d never have been on Vaporia if I 
hadn’t been shoved off, very much 
against my will.” 

“Shoved off !” She seemed about to 
cry. “You were marooned! And I’ve 
been waiting for- two years to get off 
this biological madhouse.” 

Hermer chuckled. “That is a bit 
odd,” he asserted, “waiting two years 
for rescue and then receiving another 
derelict for a companion.” 

“There’s nothing funny about it!” 
snapped Jewel Collahan decisively. 
“And if you’d use your eyes you’d see 
you were still on Vaporia, Captain.” 
Lieutenant Hermer looked up. Rigel, 
pink as ever, glared unmovingly from 
its diminutive marble size overhead. 

“Oh, well,” he ventured. “Perhaps 
I should have picked some other 
planet of Rigel to get marooned on!” 

S HE was quick to catch him up. 

“There are none,” she proclaimed 
scornfully. “Vaporia is a dead star, 
out of its gravity range. Have you 
forgotten that Rigel gives off light so 
intensely that its light pressure is two 
hundred and fifty-six times that of the 
sun, which counteracts its gravity 
pull.” 

“Pardoh my astronomy,” agreed 
Lieutenant Hermer. “I don’t get 
around this way often.” He told her 
of his exact predicament. 

“Vaporia is a virtual prison!” ex- 
claimed Jewel Collahan. “These yel- 
low insect people are very amiable 
and tractable, although they can fight 
viciously with what science they have 
when aroused. They’re grateful to 
you. A detachment of them had set 
out to examine the incubator, placed 
in a high region to get the full rays of 
Rigel, and witnessed your brave at- 
tempt to save their incubator; they 
arrived in time to rescue you from the 
spitting crowl, and brought you here. 
Your nerve-shorting paralysis has 
worn off by this time. They will do 
anything in their power to aid you in 
finding the Mason brothers, if they 
have indeed landed for restocking.” 
“That’s an idea!” ejaculated Eon. 
“Could they locate the space ship?” 



ROUND ABOUT RIGEL 



77 



“I’m sure they could ! They might 
bring the fugitives sooner than you 
thipk. They have an extraordinary 
system of telepathic commimication,” 
answered Jewel. Lieutenant Hermer 
ran his hand over his aching muscles; 
his expression gave the girl momen- 
tary misgivings, not knowing he was 
thinking of the Mason brothers. 

“In that case. I’ll get you back to 
Earth, and be glad to,” he promised. 
Jewel Collahan shouted a command 
in an odd tone, at which the attentive 
bodyguard of Vaporians answered in 
short, crisp syllables. Presently they 
began to depart in flying groups, fad- 
ing into the lavender distance. Per- 
haps the loss of his triple-charge 
weapon had not been at too dear a 
price, after all. 

“I came to Vaporia on an ill-fated 
expedition,” said Jewel ruefully. 
“There is what remains of the Void 
Plover IV! Rocket tubes blown 
away at the take-off.” 

It had been an unwieldy rocket 
vessel, quite unlike the trim gravito- 
propulsion patrol craft of the Space 
Guard. “Overloaded?” 

“I suppose so,” she admitted. “I 
came to trade gaudy trinkets for cu- 
rious pebbles they use as a medium of 
exchange here, that are almost price- 
less on Earth. It was easy. Before I 
knew it I held the controlling share of 
their money exchange system, had 
tied up the economic balance and al- 
most started a depression.” 

“They’re more human than I 
thought,” admitted Hermer. 

“After the rocket-tubes smashed,” 
continued Jewel Collahan, “I couldn’t 
see the Vaporians suffer, and re- 
turned the coruscants.” 

“Coruscants !” ejaculated Eon. 
“That’s queer. They’re worthless. 
They’re mining them out of the moon.” 
She led him toward the adjacent 
side of the ruined Void Plover IV. 
From a pile of rocks a leather-wi.?ged 
bird soared, plunging down into the 
tortuous chasm that opened before 
them. The Vaporian City was com- 
posed of crude mud structures, stuck 
on the precipitous walls of the chasm 
like wasps’ nests. From various aper- 
tures he perceived chitinous lemon- 



yellow features, staring in a manner 
not unlike inquisitive humans. 

S they moved along the gorge’s 
floor, small flying creatures were 
aroused. Insectlike things. Leathery 
bull birds. Others had no earthly 
simile, but floated around on fragile 
wing-spumes. Tiny seed-pod parasols 
soared by, hurling themselves like 
twirled pie pans but never hitting 
anything, since they seemed to pos- 
sess an animalistic instinct. Jewel 
called them Spaerella. Flying plants, 
akin to microscopic unicellular plants 
on Earth, the Protophyta, with dila- 
ting flagella to propel them through 
water. Vaporian science was unique. 

“It’s mostly natural science,” she 
explained. “The yellow Vaporians 
utilize few implements. The orange 
emanation you saw destroy the spit- 
ting crowl was a natural electric em- 
anation that comes from them when 
aroused.” 

Without warning the light of Rigel 
was suddenly extinguished. Stygian 
night descended. 

“I forgot!” she exclaimed. “It’s the 
night period. You see there is a 
swarm of meteorites circling Vaporia, 
and ever so often it eclipses Rigel. 
These periods don’t last long.” 

Lieutenant Hermer was learning 
something every minute. He was sud- 
denly aware of the soft warmth of her 
nearness. She must have stumbled in 
the dark, for their lips came together 
quite by accident. He was so amazed 
that he held her thus for a thrilling 
moment. Then blinked. 

“That was a fast ten minutes,” he 
remarked in ^confusion, for a beam of 
light was cutting a white cylinder 
down out of Tartarian gloom. 

“I — I don’t understand,” stammered 
Jewel Collahan. “That’s not Rigel.” 

“I do !” whooped Hermer. “It’s the 
search beam of the Space Guard pa- 
trol vessel. I'd know her anywhere.” 
The beam swept over, wavered, be- 
came motionless over a high shelf 
where lay the ruins of the Void Plov- 
er. “They’re descending. Can you 
take me up there on the run? It may 
mean — ” For answer her hand fitted 
snugly in his own and they headed 




78 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



out pell-mell through the blackness. 

The cylinder of light was a mere 
slanted hyphen, glaring across at the 
ruins and reflecting dimly back to the 
sleek ovoid lines of the moored Space 
Guard vessel. Two grotesque figures, 
clad in transparent b|ll-like helmets 
with shoulder tanks, came cautiously 
out of a low airlock, each v/ith dis- 
sembler at hip. The Mason brothers 
distrusted the air of Vaporia. They 
took no chances. Like divers on an 
ocean floor, they ventured through 
the wreckage. Hermer writhed in- 
wardly with disgust. Avarice had 
brought the Mason brothers down, a 
hope that treasures might be gutted 
from the derelict, and need of water. 

All at once something was hap- 
pening. Brackish shadows were mov- 
ing into the light, a circle of yellow 
figures. A closing cordon. 

“Make for the patrol ship,” gasped 
Lieutenant Hermer. “If I get to 
those controls they’ll think a comet 
backfired.” He carried with him 
water element tanks. 

Halfway across the intervening dis- 
tance the pinkish light of Rigel reap- 
peared with a vivid glare; the meteo- 
rite swarm had passed. Swerving 
around a huge boulder, they leaped 
into the open airlock, as an alarmed 
shout sounded behind. 

E xclaiming exultantly. Lieu- 
tenant Hermer sprang to the 
guiding mechanisms. Jewel was gasp- 
ing like a fish out of water, but she 
moaned at what she saw beyond the 
glassite. The Mason brothers were 
retreating slowly toward the patrol 
ship, unharmed. After all, the yellow 
Vaporians had been told merely to 
find fhe brothers, not to destroy them. 

The ovoid patrol ship rose as soft- 
ly as a feather, gained momentum. 
Vaporia fell away rapidly. A hide- 
ous, bulbous face, as scarred and 
pocked as a full moon, passed a circu- 
lar spaceport. Alf Mason! Jewel 
Collahan screamed. After all they 
had passed through, the Mason broth- 
ers had not been eluded. They had 
clung to the outer degravite shutters 
like flies. Soon the mass gravity of 
the space ship would carry them 



along as satellites. 

An insistent tapping came from the 
glassite prow. Alf Mason hung there, 
eyes shot through with fear and des- 
peration. In his hand he held destruc- 
tion — the dissembler — ^not only for 
those within, but for himself as well. 
If he shattered the glassite, the inner 
air would escape, leaving them in a 
vacuum. So he hesitated. 

Over his helmet the pinkish rays of 
Rigel had ballooned to white hot in- 
tensity. Vaporia’s atmosphere was 
left behind. Lieutenant Hermer 
looked sternly ahead, set the controls 
at full acceleration. Alf Mason 
grinned, knowing his body would be 
accelerated along with the space ship. 

Darting across vacuum now. Alf’s 
lips were moving. At a sideport, 
Mope cringed, his fat sweating face a 
terror mask. Demanding. Pleading. 
Screaming that they be let in. And 
Rigel’s blinding flames expanded, be- 
came more intense. Suddenly it 
seemed as if a gigantic hand clutched 
at the men on the outer hull. They 
were scraped away and back into 
space. Alf’s incredulous face gyrated 
away as his space-togged body was 
ripped back. 

C3ut around Rigel. Out where the 
intense light pressure exceeded the 
gravity of a giant sun. Even old Sol 
had light pressure, as was evinced by 
tails forming on near comets, but this 
was two hundred and fifty-six times 
as great. Yet the gravitational thrust 
of astral bodies to the rear had shot 
the patrol vessel into that “no man’s 
land” of space, and the Mason broth- 
ers had been plucked away by an in- 
visible repelling force. 

He turned to explain what had hap- 
pened to Jewel, but found her staring 
back at a black dead world outlined 
vaguely against Rigel’s rays. “I’m 
glad to get away,” she said, “but some- 
how it makes me feel a little blue to 
leave the Vaporians.” 

Off to one side of the stern, two 
bright flashes appeared against space, 
so close together as to look like eclips- 
ing binaries, or double suns. They 
twinkled momentarily, and were gone, 
like instantaneous novas. Only Hermer 
knew what they signified. 







'TM£ SrKAN&E.3>tlU&£% 



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MAO ESCAREO PROM TRR DtS' 
^erTino Room of a mercoRian 
^C ttMTfsT. TME^ THRoO^M 
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TRP4tR»Rui-ER OW ATRIBC OF 
mSANE FEort^ • ETAKRE JOIR* 
BCTEO MV SPACE Pt AME TOWARD 
A HUSC VOCeAHIC MOUNTAIN ON 
THE COLD. DARK SIDE OF THE 
PiANET MERCUR/. 

A POVIERFOI. MAC»HETIC RAV 
DREW US INTO THE HOLIAW COCTCR 
OF THE MOOMTTAIN AND WE LANDED 
AT THE OATES OF A BEAUTIFUL^ 
UNDERSROUND CITX. X WAS LED 
BCFORE VACCO, AN ASED MAN, 
Known AS"THe supreme one; 
WHOM ALL THE MERCoRIAMS 
FEARED AND MLICVED TO DC A 
MD* HE ordered me TD THE 
VOETORE CHAMBERS, 




^Op THE ToR-SlRe --Tne 1 
SOPRSME ONE COMMANDS ] 



^ATWEW DEVICTRyI 
WILL THg y TRy?^ 






I V»AS LCD BCFoBC THe SUPRCMB ONE, WHO, TO /HV 
WITH OUTSTRETCHED MAMD . ^ r ■■ ‘ 

WELCOME ZARNAK, TO /wy DOMAIN, X'/W VA6CO SELF- 

APPOINTED RULER. OF AAERCURy. ETARRG, /HV DAUGHTER, 

TELLS ME THAT ><00 ABE FROM EARTH so t 

APOLOGIZE FOR My ACTIONS, X HAVE NOTHIN^ TO 
FCAR from EARTHLINGS — BUT X DO FEAR THOSE 
FROM VENUS, you SRE, ZARNAR, X MVSELF AM FROM 
VENUS. WE VENUSIANS ARK A HIGHLY INTELLIGENT 
RACE — AND By SELECTED BREEDING FORCOUNTLESG 
CENTURIES HAVE CONSTANTL/ IMPROVED THE MENTALITV 
, OF OUR PEOPLE, you WONDER WHV X. AM ON MERCURY f 
r COME with me to My APARTMENTS 
1 — I WILL TELL You THERB / , 




79 




My WIFE yNfkS prahtic—wc 
WERE AOVAHCED IH >6ARS, IT 
WAS OUR ONCy CML&. X 

EKAMIMCD the 9ABV cARmuy 

-'AHO WHILE HER MENTAUT/ 
WAS MOT AS advancer AS 
OTHER CHIUDRCN -'SHE WAS FAR 

PRplA DEIM6 AN iPloT « — > 

WHAT SHA1.U we DO VACCO. MV 
PARUN<a? X CANNOT 4-ET 
ETARRE Go. OUR only ClMilD-- 
SHE WILC DIE AMONO THOSE 
INSANe PgQP CC/ 

HUSH DfiAR,NOT5o 
Loucx. X wiLC Pino 




AND SO, XAWVKCRE with DAUGHTER.. 
HER. /A6THKR J»El> yEARS A<iO. >oo SEE, 
For CBNTURXES the VENOSIANS HAVE BEEN 
SENBINO Al.1. IHSAHE TEOPLE ANP A«.<- 
MISFITS H> MERCUPy. THAT HAS KEPT THE 
race oh a HIGH PIAhE. these ilCMENTED 
EyiLES CIVC A pm4>, BARBARIC ClpC HERE 
OH MERCURY — SPI-IT IHTO <»OARREUH<» 

: — — 7 TRieES / — 




OUR &PIES-— VUE HAVE AAANY OP 
THEM IN THE MERCURIAN CITIES 

Toco OS OP YouR. ARRVVAl- . 

VIE ALVIAVS FEAR THAT THE 
yCNUSIANS Vlluk. COME TO 
WREAK VENOEANCE ON FATHER.. 
HENCE, X. WENT TO SEE IP YOU 
WERE ONE. ASTOUNOEO AT YouR 
, appearance', so like /viy own, 

I I REC.IDEt> To SAVE YOU 




SO HERE YOU are. IT WAS EASY WITH MY SUPERIOR KNOWCEPeE TO 
LORD IT OVER THE SIMPLE - MlIN DEO MERCURIANS, TO THEM X AM 

A SIRlSTER IHrUJENCC DWELUINa IN THIS MOUNTAIN BUT 

REALLY, X LEAVE THEM PRETTY MUCH ALONE, UNLESS THEY DISOBEY. 

I HAVE GIVEN Them aaany scientific tmikie>s that have advanced 

them REMARKABLY — IN AFEW GENERATIONS THEY WILL BETCqME QUITE 
CtVIUlXED. X HAVE HARNESSE.D THE HEAT, DEEP IN AA6RCORY,'R> FUR- 
NISH ME LIGHT, ENERGY AND WARMTH. T~ CONTINUALLY ENMST MER- 
CURIANS IN MY service — THE ONE WHO ACCOMPANIED YOO WILL 




80 




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THI« W^KCD BY A^fANS OF A «CA*T R€ - 
FLgCToR on THE MpUKTAIN TOP •— — — O 



IT CAM'T BG A CU>aDBUR^T.{ 
ZNCVER 3AW ANVrHIN<^ ^ 
LIKfi IT/ ^ 



THE CITY oF CAYUBO HAS Ju5T ' 
5CCN DCSTftOvEP BY A FLAoO < 
THAT CAME FROM THE H6FH6MS 

AMO-- • r - 



pt AMO MOT A DROP OP 
Baim dttaT oMC fJ 
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& DUl 

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SPAC.E PLANE AS ASSISTANTR*. WE ZX>omEb 



HAVE HECW? 



I CAN'T understand it. ATAftOV 

PHEHIC CONDITIONS ON THUS 

■ip PLANET WONT PERMIT SUCH A THING. 

Either some powerful beings prom 
>«M ce, PERHAPS PROM ANOTHER. UNIVERSE, 

ARE EHCAOED IN Conquest — OR — bot t. 
WONT think op that/ Z.ARNAK,yoU'RE To 
COMMAND A SCOUTIMG CRPeDiTIOH — FIND 
OUT WHAT THIS IS ALL ABOUT/ | 



rpRL.Es p'^PAnc t »•», vvc a.a^W/tab>*w 

yp THROUGH THE DEPTHS OP THE MOUNTAIN 



A STOWAWAy. COMMANDER.. 
WHO HAS DECIDED TO 
AccoMpANy you } I ■ 



FOB CAN COUNT ON ME, 
yjt^ZKa. I'M LEAVINO 
IMMEDIATELy IM My , 
SPACEPLANE.' 



AH, you earthlings have Not ysr learnbo the 
SK eMT STORED IN BROCAS . CONVOLUTION.. yoU 
«EE, A HHSHLy DBVELoPEO INTELLECT CAN R6- 
LBASe THIS ABIUTy IN TH6 &RAIM OF A LBSStR. 
being BV an hypnotic GAXE. so, WHEN ONE oP 
THE INSANE PEOPLE STARED AT YGO, THAT PORTION 
OF yOuR BRAIN lAAmeDIATE Ly RESPONDED, FOR. 
EVEN THOUGH THEy WERE INSANE, THEY STILL. 

Retained a brain that functioned with This 

_ instinct, so really, 

-lYoU ARE READING ' 

1 THOUGHTS THOUGH 

THE SPEECH MERELY 

clarifies THB p~ 
thought/ 



POWER through mere 



For savCRAL Pays X en Joyed Vasco's hosPi- 
TALlVy AND SECURED A MUCH-NEEDED REST. 
THEN ONE AAV A MERCURIAN RUSHED IN WITH 
AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT • 



you 



81 




VISION 

of the 

HYDRA 

Ten M inds Are Housed 
Within a Single Skull 
Performing Miracles 
Beyond Imagination! 

By GORDON A. GILES 



Author of “Dimensional Worlds,” “The Sun 
that Cracked,” etc. 



What does it profit a man if he gain 
the whole world and lose his own soul? 



T hese words occur to me as I 
prepare to write this story. For 
in a sense, Dr. Alanson Willen- 
borg did achieve the former and suffer 
the latter. You must have heard of 
him ; his name has frequently been 
linked with Freud’s. His intellectual 
talents became apparent even in his 
first year at college, when he wrote a 
theme paper that threw his professors 
into a turmoil. By his senior year he 
was recognized as the soon-to-be Ein- 
stein of psychology. 

His graduating thesis flung wide the 
doors to what he called “cosmic psy- 
chology,” and he was promptly ten- 
dered — or begged into— the chair of 
Professor of Psychology at Midwest- 
ern. 

For six years his brilliance stood 
prominent, resulting in a ten-volume 
work on mental phenomena from which 
he made a small fortune. Then, against 
all inducement, he retired from aca- 
demic pursuit. He was thirty years old 
at the time. 

The psychiatric world had waited 



“I hare the vision of the hydra,” the tenth 
head said. 




VISION OF THE HYDRA 



83 



with bated breath for him to elaborate 
on his theories of “cosmic psychology,” 
but he left them hanging in mid-air. It 
left a furor that died away only grad- 
ually. 

T he maid left to announce me, and 
I stared around appreciatively at 
the elegant arrangements of this lounge 
in Dr. Willenbor^s Oak Park home. I 
caught the feminine touch in the soft- 
hued draperies and woodland pastels, 
and knew that Jondra, his wife, had 
been the decorator. 

Jondra! I almost ran out then ai a 
small panic, but already I heard her 
soft footsteps. 

“Why— Charles!” 

One look at her tender blue eyes, her 
golden auburn hair and I knew that I 
had not stopped loving her, even 
though I hadn’t seen her for five years. 
I don’t know what silly things I said 
in greeting, nor what she answered, but 
I felt the old pain of lost happiness. 
Alanson and I, roommates for two 
years, had both courted Jondra, and he 
had won. Yet there had been a time 
when Jondra had seemed to favor me. 
Bittersweet memory ! 

I stiffened, aware that these 
wretched memories were showing in 
my face and embarrassing her, and 
forced myself to seem light-hearted. 

“Jondra — how’s Alanson, the old 
champion soda-destroyer?” 

A minute later, as if glad to end the 
brief tete-a-tete, Jondra led the way to 
his study, leaving me at the door with 
a strange, haunted smile that was later 
to have great significance. 

Alanson Willenborg was the same as 
when I had known him in college — tall 
and athletic, cold and suave. His face 
was the same unsmiling, grave face of 
the scholar and thinker.* It did not 
change in the slightest as he shook my 
hand, and his eyes reflected those hid- 
den flames that indelibly stamped him 
as the genius. 

I did not feel the awkwardness in 
his presence that I had with her. Some- 
how, the human things didn’t matter 
with him. I could just feel that his rea- 
soning on the subject would be — “I 
wanted Jondra. You wanted Jondra. 
I got her. That’s that.” 



After he had greeted me and mo- 
tioned me to a chair, he sat down at a 
horseshoe-shaped desk and began tap- 
ping at a shorthand machine. And now, 
how can I tell the rest without sound- 
ing incoherent? For he then extended 
his left hand toward another shorthand 
machine and began manipulating that ! 
And if I had not been too awed to 
notice at the moment, I would have 
heard the soft drone of a phonograph’s 
voice coming from a receiver hung 
from the low ceiling just beside his left 
ear. 

“Don’t think I’m neglecting you,” 
said Willenborg, just as a deep flush 
burned over my face. “On the con- 
trary, my right ear and a good share 
of my mind are at your service!” 

I started to my feet, angry at his 
insinuation — how could I know it 
wasn’t that? 

“If you’re so busy. Dr. Willenborg,” 
I sputtered indignantly, “I wouldn’t 
want to intrude. I — ” 

“Sit down, Charlie old boy. And the 
name’s Lanny!” 

H e gave me one of his rare, disarm- 
ing smiles that for a moment 
melted the intellectual mask on his 
face. 

“You think,” he went on as I sank 
back, “that I’m giving you an insult- 
ingly small part of my attention. As a 
matter of fact — if you can believe me — 
I’m more attentive than anyone else in 
the world could be !” 

I knew I looked foolish. 

“Really, Dr. Wi — Lanny, I — I — ” 
“Listen,” explained the man I had 
known for years and yet had never 
knov(m, “with my left and right hands 
I am writing two separate treatises in 
shorthand, one on symptomatic para- 
noia, the other on specific shell-shock. 
The bifold speaker next to my left ear 
is delivering two separate discourses 
on hypnotism and hallucination. Yet” 
— his lips smiled ever so slightly — “I 
could discuss with you, with ease, the 
internal traumatic effects of hysteria, 
or any other technical topic!” 

Well, there you have it. Yes, impos- 
sible — but he was doing it; that was 
proven later. At the moment I didn’t 
believe him either ; conjectured he was 



84 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



playing some elaborate trick on me. 

“Look here, Lanny,” I stammered. 
“I’ve heard of gifted persons writing 
a letter and talking over the telephone 
at the same time, but—” 

“Child’s play!” interrupted Willen- 
borg. “Psychologists have long sus- 
pected that there is k great deal of lat- 
ent power in every brain, and that the 
average person uses only one-tenth of 
it. Scientists, scholars, thinkers of one 
kind or other use perhaps twice or three 
times as much, but that is still a small 
part of the total potentiality of the 
mind. Applying myself to this prob- 
lem of psychogenesis, I’ve succeeded in 
training myself to use fully one-half of 
my brain capacity!” 

A half wit! This queer, irrelevant 
play of words flashed across my mind, 
and I had to strangle an involuntary 
chuckle. For an instant it looked ridi- 
culous — his two hands flying steadily 
over the complicated keyboards of the 
shorthand machines, the voices that 
came to me as soft hisses pouring into 
his left ear. And yet — 

“You see, Charlie,” he spoke again, 
as easily as if doing nothing else but 
that, “the human brain is not a unit 
organ at all. It is actually composed 
of mental segments, each of which 
alone can motivate the individual from 
birth to death. People that rise above 
the average are those who have learned 
— unconsciously indeed — to use two 
segments. Exceptional figures in hu- 
man life use perhaps three. Geniuses 
use four.” 

“Einstein,” I ventured, “used five?” 
Willenborg visibly sneered. 

“Only one person in the world ever 
used five out of a possible ten parts of 
his brain. And that — ” 

“Is you!” I cut in blandly. I arose 
with studied indifference. “I have an 
appointment — ” 

I walked out. Why? You would 
have done the same, driven by an over- 
whelming sense of inferiority in the 
presence of Dr. Alanson Willenborg. 
As I stepped down the hall, wrapped 
in the remnants of my pride, I told my- 
self I would never see him again. 

I hoped, though, to see Jondra once 
again — I even looked around for her 
hopefully in the luxurious lounge, But 



the maid — undoubtedly sent by the 
doctor — politely led me to the front 
door. 

The cool night wind lashed my 
flushed face. I tried to force Jondra out 
of my mind. 

I T was inevitable that I should go 
back to that brownstone house set 
back in a small grove of tall oaks. It 
was a week later, and in that interval 
I had attended the Midwest Conference 
of Physicians, and several other less 
formal gatherings of medicos in Chi- 
cago. At the same time I had made 
casual inquiries about Dr. Willenborg 
among the psychiatrists. 

“A loss to science.” “Unsocial chap, 
but a genius.” “What has he been do- 
ing in the past two years since retiring 
from the chair?” These were some of 
the reports to my anxious queries. You 
see, for a young surgeon in the East, 
I had been quite out of touch with 
things in the psychiatric field. And I 
had been trying to forget Jondra. 

Trying to forget! I should have 
known that was as impossible as for- 
getting there was a sunrise, or forget- 
ting to breathe. This second time I 
called she seemed overjoyed to see me, 
and we talked over college days for 
an hour before I went in to the doctor’s 
room. 

“Lanny,” I said as ^e accompanied 
me down the hallway, ‘^s a little — well, 
changed.” 

“Yes,” she whispered. She stopped 
abruptly, faced me with eyes that were 
vacant. I knew then and there that she 
was not happy. “Changed!” she cried. 
“If you only knew ! Oh, Charles, what 
is he doing?” 

With that she hurried away. I 
knocked on the door to Willenborg’s 
study with a grim wonder. As I 
stepped in, I felt an immediate sense 
of smallness, of inferiority. Alanson 
was sitting at his horseshoe desk, both 
hands busy, but this time writing in 
longhand instead of working shortlwnd 
machines. Back and to the left of his 
head the speaker was droning out 
words steadily, two sets of words that 
sounded like a jumble to me. Then I 
noticed that he was reading also, from 
a book lying on the desk before him! 



VISION OF THE HYDRA 



85 



“I knew you’d come back, Charlie,” 
he said gravely, a hint of mockery in 
his voice. “Curiosity is always stronger 
than pride.” 

“I — I came mainly to see Jondra,” 
I snapped back. 

“So!” He raised his eyes from the 
book for just a second. “You never 
married, CharKe?” 

“I’m a bachelor simply because that 
suits me!” 

Weak words; futile attempt to con- 
ceal the truth. 

Abruptly, he changed the subject. 

“Tell me, Charlie, what does dissec- 
tion of the human brain show in rela- 
tion to thinking processes?” 

“It shows an uneven distribution of 
convolutions, and — ” 

“That’s enough,” interrupted Alan- 
son. “In plain words, part of the brain 
is well used, but most of it is not. Why 
should not the whole brain be concen- 
trated in activity?” 

“It would wear the brain out,” I sug- 
gested. 

“Bah!” he snorted. “Superstition. 
The brain is the strongest organ in the 
human body.” 

“Then why is there so much insan- 
ity?” I asked quickly. 

“Not, as you and the herd think, be- 
cause the brain is over-used, but be- 
cause it is used wrongly. A brain 
trained to think constructively will 
never go under, even though it is taxed 
to its full capacity.” 

“And that is what you are doing?” 

E shook his head sharply. 

“Exactly. Two years ago I left 
the chair of psychology at Midwestern 
to carry out this plan of applied telesis. 
Telesis, you know, is self-improvement. 
I started by training myself — or my 
brain — to talk with Jondra and write 
technical articles at the same time. 
Then I learned to write with my left 
hand, and thus added the third separate 
operation. It was but a step to add a 
voice, and to train myself to under- 
stand two together. Then I developed 
the operation of speaking with these 
four other operations going. Finally, 
during this past week, I’ve added the 
ability to read, which makes a total of 
six operations I can concentrate on 



simultaneously. 

“It becomes easier to add operations, 
strange to say, as I go along. I expect 
to reach my limit in a month or so, 
which will probably be ten distinct ac- 
tivities at once!” 

I gulped. 

“Easy enough to say you are doing 
six distinct things,” I said, “but do you 
honestly understand every word of the 
two voices from the speaker? Are you 
writing two coherent themes? And do 
you grasp what you are reading? All 
this while talking to me?” 

“Certainly !” 

He stopped his writing suddenly and 
tore two sheets of paper off the pads 
to his right and left. They were long 
sheets of paper, and as he handed them 
to me, I saw they were inscribed with 
his fine, clear script. I glanced at the 
first sheet. His words were as straight 
to the line as though ruled. It began — 

You are wearing a navy blue suit, with 
a red and black striped tie, button-neck buff 
shirt, and brown shoes. You have a razor 
nick on your right cheek. This is to prove 
that what follows was written since you’ve 
been here, while we were conversing. I will 
list following the rules of geometry. One, 
a straight line is the shortest — 

The page went on, leading to the 
complicated propositions of spatial 
geometry. My eyes bulging, I read the 
second sheet. It, too, began with the 
proof that it had been post-written to 
my entrance, and then went on to list 
the planets of the Solar System — diam- 
eters, mean distances from the sun, 
periods of revolution. 

While I was still gaping at this, he 
thrust the book he had been reading in- 
to my hands, and recited the preceding 
page almost word for word. When he 
challenged me to check the phonograph 
monologues against his memory of 
them, I gave in. 

“A remarkable feat,” I tried to say 
casually. 

He smiled faintly and looked at me 
in such a way thit I felt myself shrink- 
ing to the size of an ant. 

“Not remarkable,” he shrugged, “in 
the light of what I’ll be able to do 
later !” 

I was to remember those words, 
which he said with an odd look in his 




86 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



eyes. I did not lose the ant-size feel- 
ing until I had left his home and walked 
around in the night air for an hour. 

I T was about a month after my first 
visit that I again invaded the quiet 
precincts of Oak Parlj. 

I did not meet Jondra this time; she 
was out motoring, the maid told me. I 
walked to Alanson’s room, strangely 
aware that I would not be interrupting 
him, even though unannounced. At the 
most, he would only be transferring his 
attention from one of six operations to 
me! 

But I was wrong — it was now eight 
operations ! 

The seventh was a coded clicking 
that came steadily from a telegraph 
sounder on his desk. The eighth, briefly, 
was a photoelectric outfit, in which his 
swinging foot interrupted the beam in 
dots and dashes that were recorded on 
a moving tape. 

He glanced up briefly from his book 
as I entered, but his flying fingers did 
not pause a second in their manipula- 
tions of the shorthand machines at 
either hand. He spoke softly above the 
steady drone of the twin phonograph 
voices near his left ear. 

“You will notice that I’ve added two 
operations. The seventh is a discourse 
on radio-therapy in the international 
code. The eighth is my rendition, in 
the Morse code, of Shakespeare’s Ham- 
let. Each operation indicates that a 
separate portion of my brain has come 
to life consciously, and has joined my 
wakeful mind. My brain is perhaps 
only two out of ten parts subconscious 
now.” 

“But — but which is you?” I de- 
manded, for I had been trying to puzzle 
that out. “Are you the part that is 
talking to me, or the part that reads, or 
the part that is moving your leg rhy- 
thmically, or — ” 

“Which part of your brain is you?” 
countered Alanson. “The part that 
dreams while you sleep, the part that 
builds your air castles, or the mental 
segment that calls itself — consciously — 
T’? Here I am doing eight things at 
once, and I am aWare of doing eight 
things! As when you listen to a duet 
and hear both voices. It is astonish- 



ingly simple.” 

But watching him closely, I saw a 
vague look of strain on his face. And 
when he suddenly abandoned all his 
operations and left the desk, I saw the 
strain was still there. He looked 
harassed, fatigued. 

He faced me, then, for the first time 
as a normal person doing just one 
thing. 

“Sit down,” he invited. “I feel the 
need of a short rest, although my brain 
is as fresh as ever.” 

“Do you eat and sleep?” I asked won- 
deringly — and foolishly. 

“Of course,” he returned gravely. “In 
fact, I lead a model life, and have for 
two years, since I started this. I am 
on a very sensible diet. I sleep exactly 
eight hoiurs each night. I swim daily 
in my private pool, and take frequent 
long walks. All the rest of my time and 
energy is spent on this project.” 

All the rest of his time! I reflected 
a bit bitterly that Jondra had been left 
out of his scheme entirely. 

“And much of my money,” Alanson 
was saying. He waved a hand. “Most 
of these gadgets have been quite ex- 
pensive — phonograph recordings of 
scientific subjects, special shorthand 
machines, and then this new automatic 
telegraph instrument. But when I have 
added two more operations. I’ll reach 
my goal — having my entire brain con- 
scious, instead of most of it subcon- 
scious and useless, with all its inhibi- 
tions, primary superstitions, and un- 
reasoning. I’ll have a tenfold brain, so 
to speak.” 

A fter a moment he added — “I’ll 
have the hydra-vision!” 

“What?” 

“Hydra-vision. You remember the 
hydra in mythology, with its nine 
heads, and one that was immortal? 
Well — with its multiple minds, it must 
truly have had an expansive viewpoint 
of the world and the Universe. Thus 
hydra-vision would be contemplation of 
the cosmos with the collective power 
and scope of ten minds working as 
one.” 

I was puzzled. 

“It seems to me you’re off the track, 
Lanny. You may succeed in awaken- 



VISION OF THE HYDRA 



87 



ing the ten mental segments, but what 
good will it do? You’ll be able to think 
of ten different things at once, but of 
no one more clearly than before !” 

A ghost of a smile hovered over his 
lips as he answered. 

“My plans go on. After I have awak- 
ened my entire brain, I will train all 
ten segments to think at once, and con- 
centrate on one thing! A genius like 
Newton used perhaps four segments as 
one. Think of having more than twice 
his mental power 1 A person so 
equipped might well discover whole 
new fields of thought and science.” 
“He would be a mastermind — a 
superman,” I said. 

“Which are just synonyms for 
genius. Genius is less remarkable than 
the fact that mankind in general is so 
backward! Various philosophers and 
Utopians have sensed that, especially 
Alexis Carrel, who in his book, ‘Man 
the Unknown,’ suggests that if civili- 
zation did as much for the mind as it 
has done so far for the body, mankind 
would become a race of supermen. Yet 
not supermen, but the men they should 
be! In other words, the mind of man 
has been left undeveloped all out of 
proportion in comparison to all our 
other ambitions. Instead, we make 
frantic attempts to climb Everest, con- 
quer the stratosphere, and dig oil for 
machines that take us everywhere, but 
nowhere.” 

After a moment he added, introspec- 
tively — “The follies of mankind!” 

I came to my feet as the door opened 
and Jondra entered. From the surprise 
on her face I knew that she did not 
often see Alanson away from his horse- 
shoe desk. For an instant their eyes 
met, locked. In Jondra’s . eyes I saw 
anguish; in Alanson*s, indifference. 
Deeper in their eyes I saw on the one 
hand blind devotion, on the other, a 
certain veiled pity. 

Then Alanson excused himself and 
went to his desk. Jondra and I walked 
out of the room as the cacaphonous 
chorus of clickings and multiple phono- 
graph voices began once again. 

M y new post in a Chicago hospital 
kept me away from the Willen- 
borg home for ten days. In that time 



Alanson had succeeded in mastering his 
last two operations. Jondra told me 
about it before I went in to see him. It 
seemed he had simply added two more 
phonograph voices. 

“Yesterday,” she concluded, “he had 
me come in there and ask him ques- 
tions. He answered them without hesi- 
tation. And now — ” 

She choked as she went on — “and 
now I feel he’s lost to me altogether! 
Not even that tenth part of him that 
can talk to me is mine, because he 
might just as well be talking to a dicta- 
phone — oh — ” 

Well, I couldn’t do anything other 
than comfort her, and for a little while 
she clung to me, sobbing fitfully. I 
don’t remember clearly, but I must 
have whispered some mad thing. She 
broke away, drawing in a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” she said, her 
voice very low. “You see, I still love 
him!” 

I went in to see Alanson in a tight- 
lipped sort of way, but whatever I had 
wanted to say to him faded out of my 
mind when he turned his eyes on me. 
A powerful flame seemed to radiate 
from them, as though the brain behind 
emanated fire. 

He was not at his desk, and had ap- 
parently been pacing the room. 

“Charlie !” he cried huskily. “Charlie, 
I’ve made it ! I can carry out ten oper- 
ations at once — work my brain up to 
the last cell! And the mental power 
at my disposal amazes even me. Mathe- 
matics? At the snap of your fingers I 
can solve a calculus equation. Hypno- 
tism? You, Charlie — take a bill out of 
your wallet and rip it in half !” 

I had not been able to tear away from 
his terrible eyes, and now a vital force 
seemed to come out of them and make 
me reach for my inside pocket. A mo- 
ment later I stared down, forlornly, at 
two torn halves of a ten-dollar bill on 
the floor. 

“Thoughts are words to me,” went 
on this amazing Alanson. “I can read 
your mind — like a book ! In your brain 
I see — 1 see — ” 

Suddenly he stopped and some of the 
fire died in his eyes. I gulped, for my 
racing thoughts just a moment before 
had been pitying Jondra for being 



88 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



married to such a mental monster. I 
waited for his explosion, but instead he 
dropped into a chair. 

He raised a face on which I saw 
again that suggestion of strain I had 
noticed last time, but stronger now. 

“Charlie,” he said^ “Jondra is living 
in hell. I offered her a divorce a few 
months ago, but the poor little fool re- 
fused — said she loved me!” 

“She does,” I seconded. “She chose 
you once, and she’d do it again.” 

A moment of silence, then : 
“Something will have to be done 
about that. However, later. Let me 
tell you why I’m so— well, enthusiastic 
right now. Yesterday I brought my 
whole brain into the conscious state — 
eliminated the subconscious entirely. It 
was like crossing a brink, or reaching a 
goal. Something seemed to click in 
my mind, and I knew that from then 
on I wouldn’t have to worry about 
keeping all the mental segments con- 
scious. They are conscious to stay! 
Why that should be is a mystery.” 

E ven to him ... a curious 
thought. . . . 

“Anyway, the mental capacity I now 
have is limitless ! Instantaneous mathe- 
matical integration — hypnotic power — 
telepathy — yes, but more ! What would 
be the next step of the super-mind?” 
“Mind over matter?” I asked, omi- 
nously aware that he had put the 
thought in my mind. 

“Ah—” 

“Lanny !” I exclaimed, with a sudden 
fear icing along my spine. “It — it isn’t 
right ! Maybe it’s meant to be the way 
it is — conscious and subconscious mind. 
Conscience — that comes from the sub- 
conscious, like a little voice deeply 
buried — guides us — keeps us from — ” 
Have you ever known someone, 
grave by nature, who seldom laughed, 
rarely smiled, and then seen that per- 
son burst out in Pagliacci cackling? 

Alanson’s laughter clipped off in mid- 
note, but I saw that something inside 
him kept on, hysterically amused. 

He jumped to his feet. 

“Leave me now, Charlie. I have to 
think these new things — out !” 

Well, I went — straight to Jondra and 
advised her, for reasons I couldn’t ex- 



plain, to leave the house for a few days, 
move to a hotel. I couldn’t tell her 
something had crossed over from his 
mind to mine, as well as from mine to 
his, when he had read my thoughts. 
Something vague — terrible. . . . 

But of course, Jondra refused. 

That night I had a haunting dream 
in which I saw.Alanson suddenly grow 
ten heads, each demon-eyed. I ran till 
breathless, then whirled, and the mon- 
ster’s tenth head, human and sad-faced, 
spoke hollowly — “I have the vision of 
the hydra! Yes, I have that — the vision 
of the hydra — ” 

I awoke, sweat-chilled, to find my- 
self muttering that mumbo-jumbo. 

T WO evenings later I was there 
again. He had phoned for me. 
First I saw Jondra, her face deeply sad. 
Then I glanced at Alanson and saw 
that the strain in his face had grown 
deeply. His face was flushed, dark 
shadows were under his eyes. 

Jondra came over to me and deliber- 
ately put her arm around my shoulder. 

“That’s your answer?” queried Alan- 
son. Jondra nodded and he looked at 
me. “There you are, Charlie. But you 
know that you can have her only at my 
will ! If at any time I want to take her 
away — it would be simple. Even if you 
were at the ends of the earth— or the 
Universe! All I would have to do 
would be to concentrate — ” 

Jondra and I looked at each other 
helplessly. Alanson smiled, and for a 
moment the cloud over his somber face 
lifted. Then he told Jondra to go. 

Alone with him, I faced Alanson with 
the feeling a mouse must have under 
the eyes of a cat. Those fiery flames 
in his eyes were brighter and more 
awesome. 

“Charlie” — how strange the nick- 
name sounded from his thin lips! — 
“hold a piece of paper between yom 
thumb and index finger — here.” 

I took the sheet of paper, let it hang 
at arm’s length. I wondered, and yet 
knew inwardly, what would happen. 
Suddenly, though there was not a 
breath of air in the room, the sheet vi- 
brated rapidly. I dropped it with an 
exclamation and heard Alanson chuckle. 
“Telekinesis — mind over matter,” he 



VISION OF THE HYDRA 



89 



said. “You wonder how it is done. 
Well, think of a key that unlocks the 
door to an arsenal. The bearer of the 
key, however, does not light a match 
and blow the place, and himself, sky- 
high. He takes part of the gunpowder 
out for his use. Analogously, my ten- 
fold psychic force is the key to the ar- 
senal of power within the atoms of mat- 
ter. I release just enough to perform 
kinetic movement. Look — the vase!” 

A vase of artificial flowers on a low- 
boy in the corner slid to the edge and 
landed on the floor with a crash. There 
was a distance of twenty feet between 
it and Alanson. 

“Lanny!” I cried. “You’re a humani- 
tarian! You’re not letting this strange 
power warp your judgment! You’re 
going to write a book — teach others to 
use their full minds. You yourself are 
going to become a great scientist, doing 
good — ” 

I was trying to talk away that gleam 
of lurking menace in his eyes. He 
stopped me with a gesture. 

“What, Charlie, is the next step !” 

A whirl of thoughts churned my 
mind to formless chaos, but I didn’t 
dare answer. 

“What? — Rule the world?” He had 
read my mind apparently. “No,” he 
went on, his voice strangely quiet. “No, 
not that. You misjudged me there. No 
— the next step is something far 
grander — astral projection of the mind ! 
Projection of my mind out into space 
— to the moon, to Mars — to past and 
future even, for they are out there — to 
the hiding place of all the Universe’s 
mysteries !” 

“Impossible !” I gasped. 

“Impossible is an expletive, not an 
adjective,” returned Alanson. “Men- 
tality is only one part of a brain’s psy- 
chic forces. The power I have to re- 
lease measured energies in the atoms, 
can be applied directly to projection of 
what we name mentality. Call it tele- 
mentality — thinking from a distance, 
from any distance !” 

“Madness!” I pleaded. “You’re going 
too far, Lanny!” 

H IS terrible eyes focused on mine, 
and I saw in their depths again 
that inner amusement, as though my 



thoughts were childishly naive. 

“Fiddlesticks!” he said, contempt in 
his voice. “Now listen, Charlie, I’m 
going to project my mind out into space 
this very minute. I wanted you here 
to— well, I will have a body to which 
I must return, and your mind will be 
the anchor to pull me back. I can’t ex- 
plain, but — I may not come back!” 

It is simple to tell of that incredible 
experiment. Alanson put me into a 
deep hypnotic sleep and when I came 
out of it, he was standing in front of 
me. I saw from my wrist-watch that 
a half hour had gone by. 

It was a subdued, haggard Alanson 
that faced me. Even the fire in his eyes 
had burned away somewhat. 

“Yes, I was out there,” he said as I 
opened my mouth to ask. “Out in the 
frigid cosmos— out where there are 
only stars, drifting molecules, dark 
space stuff. I wandered for eternity 
over the desert of trackless sky. I saw 
the leering face of timelessness, the 
hideous form of immutable past-future. 
There was the inexorable loom which 
predestines all effort in any direction to 
endless repetition. The sheathed claws 
of the inevitable many-deaths reached 
for me, drew back mockingly. I reeled 
from the stark vision of futility, from 
the revelation of complete nothing- 
ness !” 

He broke off, spoke next in a cracked 
voice — “But you wouldn’t understand 
— yoij couldn’t — ” 

The lurking terror had gone out of 
his eyes, but in its place was something 
infinitely more horrible. I can only 
describe it as a total lack of soul. 

Vision of the hydra. . . . 

The next evening Jondra met me at 
the door and quietly led me to Alan- 
son’s room, a queer look of peace in her 
eyes. But they were red-rimmed, I 
saw, from much weeping. 

I looked in and saw Alanson seated 
at his horseshoe Mesk, with the phono- 
graph voices droning away, himself 
writing rapidly at the pads of paper at 
either side. It was not imtil I leaned 
over him that I understood why Jondra 
turned away so pityingly. The pads 
of paper were scribbled with a sense- 
less jumble of words. And a vapid face_ 
turned up to me grinningly. , , . 



SPACEWARD 

Engineers Can Shoot a Rochet to the Moon Today — at 
a Cost of $100/000/0001 This Article Gives 
You the Latest Authoritative. Data 



By P. E. CLEATOR 

Author of "Rockett Through Space" etc. 



T hat the accomplishing of inter- 
planetary travel will entail the 
overcoming of many formidable 
obstacles, none will deny — least of all 
the votaries of space travel. Indeed, 
those who believe in the ultimate con- 
quest of space are usually far more 
cognizant of the difficulties concerned 
than those who so frequently condemn 
the enterprise merely because it has a 
superficial appearance of fantasy. 

Until comparatively recently in the 
history of the interplanetary move- 
ment, the greatest of all obstacles was 
that of traction. And when Blaise Pas- 
cal, in the year 1647, demonstrated be- 
yond all doubt that the earth’s atmos- 
phere did not extend throughout the 
whole of space, as was previously be- 
lieved, it seemed that the position be- 
came well nigh hopeless. More than 
one eminent scientist, hitherto imbued 
with the idea of making a journey 
through space, pronounced the enter- 
prise beyond hope of attainment when 
it was shown that there was demanded 
a method of propulsion effective in a 
vacuum. 



About two hundred years after this 
set-back, Jules Verne proposed to over- 
come the difficulty simply by shooting 
a vessel moonward from a huge cannon 
sunk deep in the earth. It was soon 
realized, however, that the velocity of 
the projectile would need to be such 
that two disastrous consequences 
would almost immediately result; one, 
the passengers would be reduced to 
pulp by the terrific acceleration in- 
volved, and two, their remains would 
be cremated when the vessel, in shoot- 
ing through the earth’s atmosphere, 
was inevitably rendered incandescent 
by friction. 

So, despite its ingenuity, its tempting 
simplicity, Verne’s suggestion was re- 
gretfully, albeit firmly, abandoned. 

Thereafter, the matter rested for half 
a century or more. Then came the reali- 
zation that in the rocket, man had at his 
disposal a propulsive device which did 
not require the presence of air for its 
operation. In fact, a rocket would work 
better in the vacuum of space, for New- 
ton’s third law of motion — every force 
has an equal and opposite reaction — 



Editor’s Note: THRILLING WONDER STORIES is glad to present to its 
readers this interpretive article on the problems of interplanetary travels by P. E. 
Cleator, eminent student of rocketry and authority on astronavigation. 

Mr. Cleator is the former president of the active British Interplanetary Sqcie^ 
and is known in this country as the author of “Rockets Through Space,” which is 
one of the most comprehensive recent works on the rocket as a means of space- 
travel. , . , 

In this important and timely article Mr. Cleator has considered the techmcahties 
of the space rocket, as well as its immediate practicality. His conclusions are that 
if sufficient capital is available for building a rocket to travel into space, it will be 
possible now to build one! 



90 



SPACEWARD 



91 




Scene from the sdentifim, THE GIRL IN THE MOON, showing n rocket ship ready for 

launching 



would operate best without the resist- 
ance of air. Today, with rocket experi- 
mentation proceeding apace in a dozen 
different countries or more, the rocket 
is everywhere recognized as being in- 
separably wedded to the idea of inter- 
pl^etary travel. 

There is, in fact, a widespread tend- 
ency to take it entirely for granted in 
this connection. Few appear to realize, 
indeed, (or else many choose to forget) 
that what was once the greatest of all 
the problems of space travel has been 
solved! Here, then, is the answer to 
those who maintain the fiction that in- 
terplanetary travel is surrounded by in- 
superable obstacles. ■ 

The problem which now heads the 
list is that of fuel, emd as usual we are 
asked to believe that it is insoluble. 
But, as a matter of fact, a solution has 
already been found in Ae step-rocket! 
It is true that by this means the send- 
ing of a rocket to the moon, and back, 
weighing only twenty tons, and con- 
tainmg only four occupants, would en- 



tail the expenditure of no less than 
35,100 tons of fuel. But the fact never- 
theless remains that to anyone pre- 
pared to pay the cost — estimated at 
about $100,000,000 — such a journey is 
not beyond the boimds of possibility 
today. 

W HO would— or could — subscribe 
such a sum? I suggest the gov- 
ernments of the world. But might not 
the venture entail the making of several 
attempts, with every failure resulting 
in the loss of at least four lives, not to 
mention $100,000,000? Then it is an 
undertaking at which governments 
would excel, a project after their own 
hearts. Even as I write, in nearly every 
country of the world, they are embark- 
ing on just such a program of colossal 
expenditure. Not on spaceships, to be 
sure, but on battleships, and similar 
manifestations of our much-vaiuited 
civilization. 

I am sufficiently unpatriotic to sug- 
gest that the outcome will probably be 




92 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



the needless wasting of far more lives 
and money than a dozen unsuccessful 
attempts to dispatch a spaceship to the 
moon would incur. But then I am a 




Motor Assembly of Experimental 
Rocket No. 4 of the American 
Rocket Society 



prejudiced rocketeer, to whom the con- 
quest of space is inexplicably more im- 
portant than the peculiarly terrestrial 
pursuit of shelling defensdess women 



and children from the safety of the 
decks of a modern warship. 

Let us console ourselves with the 
thought that the governmental prefer- 
ence for engines of pure destruction 
will probably not adversely affect the 
science of rocketry in the long run. On 
the contrary — dways providing the 
world somehow manages to survive the 
next war-to-end-war — the ultimate ef- 
fect will almost certainly be beneficial. 
For it cannot be claimed that the four- 
step moon rocket envisioned today, 
with its huge bulk weighing 40,960 
tons, is in any way ideal. 

I incline to the belief that if a lunar 
journey is ever attempted along such 
lines, it will only be as a last, despair- 
ing resource. As matters now are, with 
the question of cost prohibiting such an 
attempt, experimenters are stimulated 
to seek a better, and less expensive, 
solution to the fuel problem. And let 
it be said at once that there are numer- 
ous promising avenues of approach, 
many of which have as yet but barely 
been explored. 

The most simple and direct method 
of solving the vital question of fuel 
would be by the discovery of more 
powerful agents. Today, the most pow- 
erful fuel available is a mixture of liq- 
uid oxygen and liquid hydrogen. But 
he would be rash indeed who main- 
tained that there will not be discovered 
a more promising source of energy. 
Just as modern “high” explosives have 
largely displaced gunpowder, so some 
synthetic rocket fuel of the future may 
revolutionize our conception of what a 
powerful fuel is. 

Perhaps the answer is to be found 
in the phenomenon of atomic disrup- 
tion, which as yet we cannot in any 
way control, mockingly provided by 
radium and allied substances. Here is 
more than enough energy — if only we 
could learn the secret of how safely to 
release and use it. 

T hen there are indirect, and less 
obvious, ways of attacking the 
problem. A most tantalizing part of 
the vexatious question of fuel is that 
even the comparatively weak fuels of 
today contain more than enough avail- 
able energy to convey a spaceship to 




SPACEWARD 



93 



the remotes? of the planets, once the 
vessel is in space. 

It is the ascent from, and the descent 
to, the planets which calls for a pro- 
hibitive amount of power. Thus there 
have been made many ingenious sug- 
gestions for giving the spaceship an 
initial impetus — from pushing it along 
rails, terminating in an upward slope, 
by a high-speed locomotive, to hurling 
it spaceward from a huge revolving 
wheel. It is to be feared, however, that 
the majority, if not all, of such sugges- 
tions involve enormous expense, and 
offer the saving of relatively little fuel. 

Mention of a revolving wheel, how- 
ever, reminds us that advantage can 
easily be taken of the centrifugal force 
of the earth’s spinning by arranging 
for the spaceship to depart from the 
equator. 

The possibility of neutralizing the 
earth’s gravitational pull by giving the 
spaceship an electrical charge has been 
suggested. And, to make this inclusive, 
there is also the idea of constructing a 
station in space — an artificial, metallic 
moon, circling the earth at a height of 
600 miles, specifically designed for the 
purpose of refueling spaceships. 

By this means, a spaceship, depart- 
ing with just sufficient fuel to carry it 
to the station from Earth, would be 
able to replenish its exhausted supplies, 
and then continue on its journey with 
the expenditure of relatively little fuel. 

It may be, as some experts contend, 
that the achieving of interplanetary 
travel, even ultimately, will depend 
upon the construction of such a station. 

The importance of the fuel question 
cannot be over-estimated. It is the 
problem of interplanetary travel today, 
around which nearly all other problems 
center. For instance, given an almost 
inexhaustible supply of easily control- 
able energy, the space ship, instead of 
being a ponderous, multi-step device, 
overloaded with fuel and costing mil- 
lions of dollars, would be'come a vessel 
of almost any convenient size that we 
pleased. 

And no longer would its equipment 
be limited to the barest necessities, and 
its passenger-carrying capacity con- 
fined to but four occupants. 

Again, with the fuels at present 




Rocket perfected by Prof. Herbert Oberth, 
Repulsor type, descending after flight. Used 
liquid fuel 

available, there is entailed the hazard- 
ous business of achieving an escape 
velocity of some 25,000 miles an hour 
when departing from Earth. Contrary 
to popular belief, the mere speed is of 
no consequence whatever, despite often 
expressed fears that the human system 
would mysteriously collapse when sub- 
jected to velocities of such an order. 

A ctually, we are even now 
shooting through space at more 
than 66,000 miles an hour, on account 
of the earth’s orbital speed alone. It is 
not the speed, but the time taken to 
attain it — i. e., the rate of acceleration 
— which is of vital importance. The 
earth’s speed, to all intents and pur- 
poses, is constant, and hence perfectly 
safe and (ordinarily) unnoticeable. 

Now a space ship, of course, has first 
to attain speed. And the limitations of 



94 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



AfO. 

OF 

\ 


TOAfS 


70TAI 

MF/ 0 //r 

OF 

ROOKBT 


C9AO 


sfteu 


Ft/FL 


/ 


iO 


to 


60 


80 


z 


ao 


60 


460 


640 


3 


640 


640 


3640 


S/20 


4 - 


sno 


ststo 


30720 


40960 




In the step-rocket, when the fuel in the last chamber has been used, the entire compartment is 
cast off. Similarly, compartments 3 and 2 are cast off, and only compartment 1, containing the 

passengers, arrives at the moon 



available fuels are such that the estape 
velocity of 25,000 miles an hour needs 
to be reached within an eight-minute 
period, which involves a rate of accel- 
eration of at least 100 feet per second 
per second. German rocket experi- 
menters early demonstrated that this 
requirement can be met : they subject- 
ed themselves to an acceleration of 160 
feet per second per second for nine min- 
utes. 

Nevertheless, the first few minutes of 
an interplanetary voyage under such 
conditions hold promise of much acute 
discomfort for the occupants of the 
space ship. But with a sufficiently 
powerful fuel, the discomforts asso- 
ciated with the departure from Earth 
would vanish. For then a compara- 
tively slow and therefore correspond- 
ingly safe and more comfortable ascent 
could be made. 

In space itself, a super-abundance of 
power would increase the prospects of 
a successful journey in many ways. It 
would insure that the vessel could be 
adequately equipped with mechanisms 
designed to combat the extremes of 
temperature to be met in space. It 
would mean that the duration of the 
voyage could be decreased by virtue of 
the greater speeds that it would be pos- 
sible to attain. 



It would provide a simple means of 
overcoming the problem of weightless- 
ness — by the maintaining of a moder- 
ate and steady rate of acceleration, 
thereby inducing an ever-present sen- 
sation of weight. And it would deprive 
navigation in space of the terrors asso- 
ciated with the possibility of losing 
one’s course, and shooting helplessly 
onward for the want of extra fuel with 
which to direct the vessel toward its 
proper destination. 

Almost without exception, therefore, 
the problems which hinder the achieve- 
ment of interplanetary travel today arje 
reduced to but one problem — that of 
fuel. But formidable though this key 
problem may at present appear, I con- 
sider that its ultimate solution is not 
merely possible: I believe it to be in- 
evitable. Past history clearly shows 
that no matter how insoluble problems 
may have appeared in the past, unre- 
mitting labor and patient research have 
eventually triumphed. 

I cannot conceive a single reason 
why the fuel problem which now faces 
interplanetary travel should prove an 
exception. 

T here remains to be considered, 
however, an obstacle to space trav- 
el which it is my humble opinion pro- 



SPACEWARD, 



95 



vides a greater problem tHan all the 
purely technical difficulties put togeth- 
er — ^man himself. Ever since homo so- 
called sapiens reluctantly descended 
from the arboreal haunts of his anthro- 
poidal ancestors and contrived to con- 
ceal his Gothic nakedness beneath a 
cowhide he has bitterly resented and 
fought ferociously against every pro- 
gressive move of any consequence. 

Even the cowhide itself, I incline to 
believe, was a hated novelty strenu- 
ously opposed for whole geological 
epochs. Doubtless it was finally and 
sullenly adopted only as a last, despair- 
ing measure of defense against the un- 
welcome attention of horse-flies, an 
atrophied tail having proved lament- 
ably incapable of combating the annoy- 
ance in the traditional manner em- 
ployed by Equus caballus to this day. 

And as with the cowhide, so with 
other innovations. The unknown ge- 
nius who first conceived the revolu- 
tionary idea of the wheel probably suf- 
fered life banishment for his pains. The 
propounder of the hollowed-out canoe, 
as likely as not, met with a similar fate. 
And the neolithic nit-wit who invented 
the flint razor, and so set the world 
ashaving, I like to believe, was quietly 
strangled one dark night, and then 
drawn and quartered with the original 
implement of his misplaced genius. 

But did not man, as generation suc- 
ceeded generation, and as the cells of 
his cortex gradually proliferated — i. e., 
theoretically endowed him with the 
power to think — learn that new ideas 
were essential to his progress, that in 
original thought lay his only hope of 
avoiding stagnation — nay, atavism? 
Nothing of the kind. Nothing, indeed, 
of the sort. 

With the passing of time, man not 
only remained incapable of assimilat- 
ing new ideas : he redoubled his efforts 
to suppress them. And in the course 
of this laudable endeavor, he found a 
powerful ally In the supposed wrath of 
the gods. 

I defy anyone to make an intelligent 
study of the history of discovery and 
invention and emerge from the ordeal 
other than a cynic, profoundly con- 
vinced of the crass and congenital stu- 
pidity of man. Right down to our 



much-vaunted and supposedly enlight- 
ened era of today, homo asinus has 
made what little progress he has, not 
because of, but despite, himself. Glance 
at the pages of the book of progress. 

They are littered with those archaic 
words, “never” and “impossible.” 
Range yourself on the side of a man 
who possessed an intellect so abnormal 
that he actually proposed a new idea 
of some merit, or dared to suggest an 
obvious method of improving an exist- 
ing idea, and you will range yourself 
against almost the entire world and the 
whole hierarchy of heaven. 

I T WAS not by accident, you may 
be sure, that nine million human 
beings were in the near past burned at 
the stake or roasted alive by the dozen 
in ovens for the mythical crime of 
witchcraft. Or that Robert and Charles, 
two of the first men ever to ascend in 
a balloon, were imprisoned at the in- 
stigation of the Church for supposedly 
desecrating the heavens. 

Or that Giordano Bruno was fried 
alive at the stake for embracing the 
heresy that the earth moves. Or that 
the discoverer of chloroform, less than 
a himdred years ago, was denounced 
from the pulpit in thunderous terms 
for his impious efforts to alleviate the 
agony of childbirth. Similarly, it is no 
less accidental that the interplanetary 
idea is now a target for popular ridi- 
cule and abuse. 

Yet the marvel remains that by the 
efforts of a few the many are unwill- 
ingly made a party to progress. 
Against his will, and despite all his an- 
tagonism, man has had forced upon him 
the aeroplane, the telephone, the mo- 
tor car, and the locomotive. . Today, he 
has become reconciled to one and all 
these inventions of the Devil, and ac- 
tually regards them with pride. Let 
us give man his due: he is unfailingly 
wise after the event. 

And so it will be with interplanetary 
travel. Ridicule ahd abuse its votaries 
already face. Threats and efforts at 
suppression will surely follow, and 
may even for a time succeed. But pro- 
viding man escapes the self-extermina- 
tion he seems determined to effect, in- 
terplanetary travel will come. 




RIFT IN 



CHAPTER I 
Night in Day 

O N the rocky earth a faint but all- 
pervasive drone could be heard 
from the heavens. It seemed to 
fill the silent sky. Only after a search 
could the eye find the source, a tiny 
gleaming speck that rode the thin blue 
miles up, romantically buffeting the air 
currents bom of the crags- of the 
Rockies below. 

From the ground a tiny, romantic 
speck. But from the air neither ro- 
mantic nor tiny. For the droning 
speck was simply one of Pacific Air- 
way’s big new transport planes, the 
T-12, en route from Los Angeles to 
Salt Lake City. 

A tri-motored monoplane, it was 
cruising easily at a hundred and ninety 
miles an hour, riding high and K^t, for 
it carried far less than its usual com- 

e ement of passengers and baggage. 

ike a separate little world it drifted 
powerfully through the sky. And in 
that little world all was serene and nor- 



A Complete Novelette 
of 



Absolute Space 



Boehm yelled as he felt something invisible 
tugging at his ankle. 



A Sudd en Slip in the Cosmos Projects 



96 





INFINITY 

By 

PAUL 
ERNST 

Autkor of “The Micro- 
scof^ Giants” “The In- 
vincible Midge,” etc. 



Seven Humans into a World of Eternal Night 



97 




98 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



mal-seetning, with no faintest appre- 
hension of dreadful danger to disturb 
the human cargo. 

There was Richard Boehm, pilot, ai 
the controls, lounging easily in the 
padded seat while the big plane prac- 
tically flew itself. There was William 
Enright, co-pilot, younger, with radio 
ear-phones over his head, sitting beside 
him. At the moment the stewardess, 
Mildred Gray, was in with them. 

Behind the glass partition separating 
pilots from the main part of the ship 
there were only four passengers: an 
elderly man named Fowler, who was a 
mathematics professor at Stanford; a 
fragile elderly woman, on the passen- 
ger list as Amelia Barlow; a power- 
fully built mining engineer whose 
name, Ludlow Gates, was known to 
every mining corporation; and Miss 
Rea Ray, one of the movies’ minor 
though most beautiful stars. 

Seven human beings riding behind 
sonorously beating propellers, peace- 
fully and safely, high, high over the 
Rockies. Old Mrs. Barlow dozed a 
little, smiling in her nap as she 
thought of the pleasant reception 
she’d soon receive from her son in Salt 
Lake City. The professor looked ab- 
sently down at the glory of the snow- 
covered mountains. 

R ea ray gazed speculatively 
through the pilot’s partition at 
the broad back of pilot Boehm. Lud- 
low Gates had a brief-case on bis lap 
and was studying letters and contracts 
pertaining to a new borax find. 

“Flying at seventeen thousand, In- 
dian-Head bluff just ahead,’’ co-pilot 
Enright spoke into the radio transmit- 
ter to the Los Angeles field far behind. 
He turned bright blue eyes up at Mil- 
dred Gray, who was tucking a strand 
of silky bronze hair under her 'stew- 
ardess’ cap. He winked. 

“How’s the little brunette I saw you 
with last night. Herb?’’ 

Back snapped the answer. “Are you 
thinking up vaudeville gags or flying a 
ship?’’ 

“Both,” said Enright. “Tell me, has 
the brunette got a sister?” 

“No, she hasn’t any sister. Weather 
ahead reported clear. Ceiling twenty 



thousand.” 

“Twenty thousand ought to be 
plenty. If she hasn’t any sister, it’s 
just too bad for you. I’ll have to make 
a play for her myself. And of course. 
Herb, when it’s a choice between you 
and me in a lady’s heart — ” 

He stopped suddenly, and frowned at 
the transmitter. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Mildred 
Gray. 

“Radio’s gone dead,” said Enright, 
shoving the ear-phones back from his 
head. 

“Eh?” said Boehm sharply, straight- 
ening in his seat. 

“Yeah,” said Enright. “Herb’s voice 
was coming through clear, with hardly 
any static. Then — zing! Dead.” 

“Probably just a loose connection,” 
said Boehm. “Hunt for it. Bill — ” 

That was all he said. For at that 
moment the peaceful little man-made 
world became a small section of un- 
adulterated hell. 

The propellers screamed suddenly as 
though they had struck veil after veil 
of strong linen and were tearing a path 
through them. The plane tilted 
straight up, cKmbing for heaven, then 
sagged back on an uneven, sickening 
angle and began to toss like a chip in a 
whirlpool. At the same time every- 
thing went black, as though they had 
flown from the strong afternoon sun- 
light into a great black cave. 

“Bill! Dick!” screamed the stew- 
ardess in the darkness. Her hands 
sought and found Enright’s arm, and 
clung there as the plane pitched like a 
bronco in the screaming dark. 

“Hang on !” That was Boehm’s 
voice. 

The shrieks of the movie star ripped 
from the passenger compartment, to- 
gether with the strong, low cry of 
Gates, the engineer. But these sounds 
were muted by the scream of the 
motors. 

“Power diving,” Enright muttered, 
in the hell of movement and chaos. 
“Boehm — snap her head up — ” 

Before he could finish the sentence 
the shriek of the motors had become 
a normal roar again, and the pitching 
of the great plane had stopped. 

But the blackness continued. 



RIFT IN INFINITY 



99 



“My God, what’s happened?” came 
Boehm’s awed voice. 

E NRIGHT’S hand was clutching 
Mildred’s trembling ones. He 
was staring, stupefied, at stars outside 
like great gems set in pitch black 
velvet. 

“Something’s happened to the 
lights,” he mumbled. “Turn ’em on — ” 
He stopped as he realized abruptly 
the stupidity of his words. The lights. 
Turn them on — 

For they had been in broad daylight! 
It was the daylight itself that had sud- 
denly failed, not man-made lights. 

“The sun! Where’s the sun?” 

Then the cockpit lights snapped on. 
Boehm, reasoning mechanically as En- 
right had — darkness, turn on the lights 
— had snapped the switch. Then he, 
too, was bowled over with dazed com- 
prehension. 

“Where is the sun?” 

The three stared out at the sky. A 
night sky, where the bright gold of af- 
ternoon had bathed them a moment be- 
fore. A night sky? No. This was 
blacker than any night they had ever 
seen, with the stars more huge and bril- 
liant. 

And in strange positions, Boehm the 
navigator, suddenly perceived, with his 
brain beginning to reel a little. He had 
never seen constellations like this in 
the western hemisphere — or, indeed, 
any hemisphere, for that matter ! New 
stars. Strange stars. Set in patterns 
such as no mortal eye had ever re- 
corded before! 

“My God — the altimeter!” gasped 
Enright. 

Boehm’s eyes snapped to it. A mo- 
ment before, it had registered seven- 
teen thousand feet. Now — it registered 
nothing! Nothing at all! 

Both glared at the duplicate alti- 
meter. It was the skme. The needle 
was hugging the top peg. That result 
could only be achieved by a plane flying 
sixty or eighty thousand feet high. 

Or higher ! 

The back door crashed open. 

“What have you done with this 
plane?” came the wild, hysterical voice 
of the movie actress. In the lights of 
the cockpit her face showed like that of 



a terrified phantom — white and hag- 
gard and insane. “Take us down to the 
ground instantly! You hear?” 

Boehm’s reply was fashioned out of 
irony that only an instant later was re- 
alized as terrific truth. 

“I’d love to, lady, but I don’t know 
where ground is.” 

Mildred Gray gasped, and her fingers 
tightened on Enright’s arm till they al- 
most left bruises. Black night and 
great stars to the right and left of the 
plane. Black night and great stars 
above, as they could see when Boehm 
flipped inexplicably sluggish controls 
to see if by some chance they were fly- 
ing upside down. Black night and 
great stars beneath them. 

“Lord, it’s cold,” said Enright, 
numbly, hardly knowing what he was 
saying. 

“Bill,” came Mildred's thin voice. 
“Bill — do you find it hard to— 
breathe?” 

Enright realized that he was finding 
it hard to breathe. He was panting a 
little, drawing in deep breaths, and be- 
ing left unsatisfied by them. His heart 
was beginning to hammer a little. 

T he T-12 was equipped with an 
oxygen tank for passengers whose 
frail health wouldn’t take the altitudes 
the plane was capable of reaching. 
Boehm reached up and turned the tank 
on. In the pale electric light his eyes 
had a sort of glazed look. 

“Better go back to the passengers. 
Bill. Take Miss Ray back with you — ” 
“It’s so horribly cold,” came Mil- 
dred’s thin, frightened voice. 

“You’d better go back with Bill, Mil- 
dred,” said Boehm steadily. It was 
cold, and getting colder by the second. 
But beads of sweat glistened on his 
forehead. 

Rea Ray had been whimpering and 
crying incoherently. She clutched at 
the co-pilot as he got up and walked 
toward her. Enright noted hazily that 
he moved with strange ease, as though 
he had lost many pounds’ weight. 

Boehm had snapped on the lights in 
the passenger compartment, too. En- 
right half carried the movie actress to 
the nearest seat. Then he and the 
stewardess turned to the rest. . . 



100 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



. Gates was shivering in his chair, but 
paying no attention to his tremors. 

“What the devil’s happened?” he 
snapped, staring first at Enright and 
then out at the impossible glory of the 
stars on their black velvet. 

Old Mrs. Barlow said nothing. She 
had a fur coat clutched around her thin 
shoulders. Her hands were waxen 
with the cold. Her eyes glared 
emptily; she was frightened out of all 
remnant of sanity. Professor Fowler 
was staring out at the immeasurable 
blackness and biting his lips. As Mil- 
dred and Enright came toward him, he 
looked up at them with eyes that obvi- 
ously did not see them. And if they 
had thought to see the last degree of 
fear and horror in the eyes of the rest, 
they were mistaken. The ultimate de- 
gree of horror was in Professor 
Fowler’s eyes. Horror — and a dawn- 
ing, eerie knowledge. 

But the professor was keeping his 
profound fear under iron control. 

“Have you any heating apparatus 
aboard?” he asked, grey face a com- 
posed mask in which his eyes swam in 
terror. 

“Electric suits,” said Enright, speak- 
ing dully. He was like a person who 
has been badly wounded, and for the 
moment feels only numb shock. It 
would be another few minutes before 
he could begin to grasp all this. “For 
high altitudes. Latest feature of Pa- 
cific Airways. Why?” 

“Pass then around,” said Fowler. 
“And now I want to talk to your 
pilot.” 

Mildred Gray went to the rear, gasp- 
ing for breath, shuddering as though 
with palsy in the rapidly growing cold. 
She got out the electric suits, which 
plugged into sockets at each seat and 
received current from the rotating mo- 
tors. • 

Enright went back to the pilot’s com- 
partment, moving with that strange 
lightness, while Fowler crowded on his 
heels. 

The three stared at each other, white 
faces illuminated by the electric bulbs 
that made of the T-12 a tiny light-speck 
in the illimitable blackness. And in 
Boehm’s eyes was the ultimate of hor- 
ror, too, which answered the look in 



Fowler’s eyes. He had had time to 
think while the other two left him at 
the controls. 

At one moment flying along in bright 
afternoon sunlight, with the Rockies 
below — at the next riding in infinite 
night with nothing whatever showing 
beneath — 



CHAPTER II 
When Space Slipped 



T he cabin thermometer registered 
thirty-four degrees below zero. 
Less than ten minutes ago it had been 
the normal seventy-two above. The 
altimeter still registered nothing at all. 

The three stood in the suits through 
which laced tiny electric wires to keep 
them warm. In the passenger cabin, all 
were equipped with the suits, too. All 
save Mrs. Barlow. They could see Mil- 
dred, the stewardess, shaking the old 
lady, trying to get her into a suit. 

In spite of the oxygen tank, the three 
were laboring for breath, panting and 
gasping, a little like occupants of a sub- 
marine when the air begins to give out. 

“You know what has happened to 
us?” Fowler said to Boehm, quietly, 
iron self-control very much in evidence. 
Boehm nodded just as quietly. 

“I went up in a stratosphere balloon 
once. Eight thousand feet. At that 
height, when 3 «>u looked up, the sky 
was black, just like this.” 

Enright listened, heart pounding 
with something more than lack of oxy- 
gen. He sensed dimly what was com- 
ing. Nevertheless, he could hardly re- 
press a cry when it came. 

“Somehow,” said Boehm, still with 
that unnatural calm, “we’ve been 
thrown clear out of Earth’s atmosphere 
and into — space.” 

“Exactly,” said Fowler. 

Enright stared, then gasped. 

“But look here! That’s mad! It’s 
impossible. In three minutes we were 
tossed clear of the whole planet? So 
far we can’t even see it beneath us? 
We’d have had to travel faster than 
light!” 

“I have an idea,” said Fowler heav- 



RIFT IN INFINITY 



101 



ily, “that the speed of light is a piti- 
fully slow pace compared to ours.” 

“It’s impossible, I tell you! Earth 
must be near!” 

“Find it,” said Boehm, staring ahead 
at a great, bright constellation that 
looked like a jewelled dagger hung 
point down in darkness. 

“But—” 

“There is no Earth. There is no Sxm. 
There are no constellations as we 
learned them in navigation school — 
not even a Milky Way.” 

Enright was biting his lips. He was 
a hand-picked young man; all Pacific 
Airways’ pilots are; but he was only 
twenty-four. 

“You’re trying to tell me that in three 
or four minutes we left Earth so far 
behind that even the aspect of the heav- 
ens has changed?” 

“No,” said Boehm, “we couldn’t have. 
But it seems — ” He turned to Fowler. 
“You have some idea about this, sir?” 

“I have,” Fowler said. “It’s a theory 
that sounds like something you might 
hear in a lunatic asylum. Yet to my 
mind it’s the only one that can explain 
what has occurred. It is, briefly, that 
space has slipped, and we are at its 
end.” 

There was silence broken only by the 
strangely distant sounding purr of the 
propellers. The thermometer registered 
forty-six below. 

“Space — has slipped?” repeated 
Boehm, almost in a whisper. 

“Yes. I’ll try to explain it.” 

OWLER regarded him steadily. 
“Einstein’s theory is that space 
is curved. Very well, if it is curved 
then, at long last, through the Universe, 
it must return to whatever spot in it 
has been chosen as the starting point. 
Just as, on a ball-like Earth, if you start 
walking straight ahead you will even- 
tually return, after twenty-five thou- 
sand miles, to your point of departure. 
Following that simile, if you face east 
and take one step forward, you have 
moved three feet. If you take one step 
backward, you have, in a sense, moved 
twenty-five thousand miles, for it is 
that distance eastward from the point 
where you stood to the point you moved 
back to.” 



“I — don’t understand — ” 

“You will, I think. Though no one 
of us can ever really grasp it. Terms 
like infinity and endless space are ut- 
terly incomprehensible to finite minds. 
Now what I think has happened is this : 
“Assuming that space extends infin- 
itely in all directions from Earth, at 
some point past infinity it must end at 
Earth, too. So, carrying out the step- 
ping-backward-on-Earth simile, if our 
plane moved backward a mighty step in 
space, we might find ourselves at 
space’s very end, just as a backward 
step on our planet would figuratively 
carry us twenty-five thousand miles. 
However, the plane made no such 
move. Drifting at the comparatively 
non-existent speed of about two hun- 
dred miles an hour, it was suddenly 
catapulted into the end of space. There- 
fore, the only possible answer is that 
the end of space moved to envelope the 
plane instead of the other way ’round. 
Space slipped, in a word. It warped, 
buckled, so that the far-end telescoped 
over the near-end sufficiently to engulf 
us.” 

Boehm moistened his lips. And his 
lips cracked without his realizing it. It 
was now seventy-one degrees below 
zero in the pilot’s cabin. 

“There’s no sense to it.” 

“It’s a sense beyond our comprehen- 
sion,” said Fowler. 

“If space is endless, how can it have 
an end?” 

“The end is beyond endlessness.” 
“How can it extend through infin- 
ity? There is no boundary to infinity.” 
“Even infinity has infinite bounds.” 
“If endless space curves endlessly to 
come back to its starting point through 
infinity,” said Boehm, “why can’t you 
see both ends of it instead of only the 
beginning end? Why, back on Earth, 
couldn’t we see that dagger-shaped con- 
stellation that lies dead ahead of us?” 
He pointed out the front. 

“Because space is endless,” Fowler 
pointed out patiently. “In any direc- 
tion you look, you gaze along the be- 
ginning of space, for millions of light 
years, as far as a telescope will carry 
you, but can’t come within a trillionth 
of reaching the end of that space — 
which is right behind you.” 




102 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



Boehm slowly shook his head. And 
Enright felt an insane desire to laugh. 
Small beads fell from the pilot’s fore- 
head with the move. Beads of sweat, 
frozen and dropping off. It looked very 
odd. 

* 

A t the same time Enright knew 
there were frozen beads like that 
on his own face. 

“Maybe you’re right, Professor. 
Yes, I guess you must be. Space has 
slipped, and we’re at the end of it in- 
stead of the beginning — though it has 
no end.” 

“Long way from home,” muttered 
Enright, struggling with the crazy de- 
sire to laugh. There was too much oxy- 
gen in the thin air, from the oxygen 
tank. He felt weak, and drunk. 

“We couldn’t be longer,” said Fow- 
ler. “Because of that warping of space. 
Earth is, well, infinity away.” 

“And,” said Boehm steadily, “in the 
T-12, an ordinary transport plane not 
even constructed for stratosphere 
heights, we are Rying at a snail’s pace 
in the endlessness of outer space.” 
“Correct. A glance outside confirms 
that.” 

“But absolute zero exists in space,” 
said Enright, gaining a little against the 
gay madness that whirled in his weakly 
drunken brain. 

Fowler pointed mutely to the ther- 
mometer. It stood at seventy-seven 
below. 

“These ships are tightly built,” mut- 
tered Boehm, “but naturally they won’t 
begin to keep out such cold. Four hun- 
dred and sixty degrees below our nor- 
mal zero — and the air!” He turned 
suddenly toward Fowler. “There’s no 
air in stellar space. And this ship is 
far indeed from being hermetically 
sealed.” 

Fowler nodded grimly. 

“With every passing second, more 
of our air is streaming out from around 
cracks of windows and doors and into 
the emptiness around us.” 

The professor drew a deep breath. 
It was a breath of utter hopelessness, 
revealing now the source of his self- 
control. He had known from the first 
what the others were just comprehend- 
ing, and the knowledge had given him 



the calmness of utter despair. 

“In this frail plane we float in space 
so immense that great suns are 
drowned in sheer distance. It will get 
colder and colder, till we freeze into 
ice blocks. But long before that, the 
oxygen from your tank will be ex- 
hausted, and the pressure inside the 
plane will draimout until we explode in- 
ternally like over-inflated balloons. 
Gentlemen, ours is the most bizarre 
death humans have ever suffered. But 
it is death, just the same. Inevitable — 
and very quick.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Enright 
heard himself say suddenly. 

Fowler turned to him. 

“I mean, about this being the first 
time men have died this way. In the 
history of Pacific Airways, two planes 
have left airports, and never been seen 
nor heard of again. Just— disap- 

peared.” 

“Right!” exclaimed Boehm, cracked 
lips slack. “Perhaps this slipping of 
space has occurred before. I won- 
der — ” 

The door opened suddenly. Mildred 
appeared in the doorway. A white 
patch in her cheek told of frostbite. 
But she was obviously too shaken to 
feel it. 

“Mrs. Barlow is dead,” she said. 
“Her heart, I think. Fd just got a suit 
on her, and was warming her, when I 
felt her slump backward. I suppose the 
thin air — ” 

Fowler shrugged. 

“I think she’s the luckiest of the lot 
of us,” he said softly. 

“What?” Mildred’s eyes went to- 
ward his. 

Enright took her hand, in its bulky 
mitten. Those electrically heated suits 
had been put in the cabin really as an 
advertising point. “Pacific Airways 
the last word in luxury. Even equips 
its passengers against the cold of high 
cruising altitudes. No other service 
has this feature — ” That sort of thing. 
What would the advertising manager 
think if he could see the use to which 
his debated suits were being put now? 

“Listen, kid, can 3 Tou take it?” En- 
right said to Mildred. 

Her white face turned toward his, 
with the dead white patch in her cheek 



RIFT IN INFINITY 



103 



slowly growing. 

“What do you mean?” 

“This is curtains for all of us,” En- 
right said, quietly. “No use going into 
crazy details. We’re going to die, that’s 
all. No air, and freezing to death at 
four hundred and sixty below zero.” 

“Ought to tell the rest,” said Boehm 
thickly. 

He and Fowler went through the 
doorway into the bigger cabin behind 
them. Enright paused beside Mildred. 

“Want me to stay here with you, 
kid?” he said. 

The stewardess stared at him. 

“No, Bill. I’ll be — all right. I’ll stay 
here alone, though. Kind of think it 
over.” 

On a sudden impulse, Enright bent 
down. His freezing lips touched hers. 
Then he joined the other two in the 
cabin. 



CHAPTER III 
Absolute Space 



R ea RAY’S hysterics had disap- 
peared. The superficial frivoli- 
ties had slipped from a very lovely and 
very spoiled young lady; and now, 
quietly, she listened with the rest to 
Fowler’s theory of the dreadful thing 
that had occurred. Pilot Boehm’s eyes 
were on her in admiration, and his hand 
opened quickly to engulf hers reassur- 
ingly as she moved nearer to him in her 
seat. 

“ — and so,” Fowler concluded, 
“that’s our situation, and our doom. 
We are trapped here in absolute 
space.” 

“Nonsense,” said Ludlow Gates. 
“Eh?” Fowler looked puzzled, and 
the others turned quickly toward him. 
They were all clutched by the fear that 
goes beyond despair and ends in resig- 
nation. There seemed to be no fear in 
the engineer’s voice. Only irascibility. 

“I said nonsense f Absolute space in- 
deed!” 

“But my dear sir — ^you have only to 
look at the sky — ” 

“Rot! I’m no professor of higher 
mathematics, nor yet am I a pilot. I’m 



just a mining engineer. But I can use 
my head, I hope.” 

They stared at him, with something 
like gratitude in their faces. His irrita- 
bility, seeming unmixed with even A 
trace of fear, was like a bracing tonic 
to them. 

“The cold in absolute space is 460.66 
degrees below zero, Fahrenheit. This 
plane cabin is a thin metal shell. Do 
you think it would continue to be some- 
thing less than a hundred below in here 
if it were absolute zero outside ? Again, 
do you think the motors would keep on 
turning at that temperature?” 

“But — ” said Fowler. 

“Shut up. Absolute space! There’s 
no atmosphere in absolute space. Yet 
there seems to be enough atmosphere 
outside to give your motors combus- 
tion, with their super-chargers. And 
there seems to be enough atmosphere 
to let the pilot maneuver the plane with 
rudder and ailerons. There must be 
some air, or other gas with a similar 
oxygen content, outside.” 

Gates moved his big shoulders irri- 
tably. 

“Again, in space there is no gravita- 
tional force. We’d be floating around 
in the cabin like corks if we were in 
utter space. And we’re not. Our 
bodies have at least some weight.” 
Fowler shook his head. Some of his 
terror had been absorbed by the sheer, 
inhuman scientific interest that no man 
of science ever quite loses, regardless 
of the surroundings. 

“Do you realize what you’re doing? 
You’re predicating the existence of a 
planet nearby. That would be the only 
thing that would account for the con- 
ditions you seem to think — ” 

“Seem to think?” rasped Gates. 
“Would gasoline motors, even air- 
cooled, function in absolute zero? 
Would our air stay in here, even with 
the oxygen tank on, for a minute?” 
“But there can’t be a planet. If 
there were, we’d have been falling to- 
ward it from ftie instant we struck that 
buckling in space.” 

“How do you know we’re not falling 
now?” 

“But you can’t see a planet any- 
where !” 

“How do you know our eyes function 



104 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



right in this part of the sky — wherever 
the hell we are? Maybe materials and 
light beams are different.” 

The door to the pilot’s compartment 
opened. Mildred came in. She sat be- 
side Enright. 

“I don’t suppose it <means anything,” 
she said dully, “but it’s got a little 
warmer. Sixty-eight below, now.” 

G ates stared at Fowler, almost 
with a sneer. 

“Well, can the temperature of abso- 
lute space vary like that? Isn’t that 
against all the theories you chair- 
warmers have ever evolved?” 

Fowler was biting his lips. And then 
Boehm exclaimed suddenly. He had 
been staring unseeingly ahead, out the 
front window of the plane and at the 
dagger-shaped constellation. His hand 
tightened on Rea Ray’s till she cried 
out a little. 

“Look !” Boehm said hoarsely, point- 
ing at that constellation. 

The others stared quickly. And they 
saw a curious thing. 

The star forming the tip of the dag- 
ger was blotted out. Then it showed 
clear again, and finally was blotted out 
once more. The second time, the star 
above it was cut off, eclipsed from their 
vision, too. 

“There’s something in the sky out 
there! Something dead ahead, that’s 
between us and that constellation!” 
“There can’t be anybody out there,” 
protested Fowler, wrinkling his fore- 
head like a bewildered child. “If there 
were, a small planet or asteroid, it 
would shine, at least a little, in reflected 
starlight.” 

“Yeah?” said Gates unpleasantly. 
“Didn’t you ever see materials that 
didn’t reflect light? I have.” 

“You haven’t. The dullest of mater- 
ials reflect at least a little light !” 

“All right,” snorted Gates, “there’s 
nothing ahead of us, then. It’s only our 
imaginations.” 

Boehm was continuing to glare 
ahead. Nearly all of the dagger-shaped 
diagram of stcurs was shut off from 
them, now. And he could see, against 
a background of other, fainter stars, 
segments of a great curve. 

The thin hum of the motors was 



gradually becoming more full-bodied, 
indicating a thickening atmosphere of 
some sort outside. A huge, full circle 
of the sky before them was a circle of 
blackness, with no stars showing. It 
was as though a great plate were being 
held up before the T-12. 

Only you couldn’t see the plate. The 
sole indication of its existence was that 
you could see nothing on the other side. 

“There is a planet there,” said 
Boehm. He looked around at the 
others’ white faces. “Now what?” 

Rea Ray spoke. “Land on it.” 
“Land on it?” 

Gates nodded. 

“That’s the only sense I’ve heard 
here so far. Sure — go down to it. You 
can’t float around here forever, can 
you ?” 

“But God knows what may be down 
there! We may not be able to breathe 
the atmosphere. There may be danger- 
ous life. The planet may be like the 
moon — ^full of hundred-mile-deep crat- 
ers we’d fall into — ” 

“All right,” snapped Gates, “soar up 
here till you run out of gas and crash 
anyway. For that thing has gravity 
force. Already we weigh more. There’s 
enough gravity pull to smash us as 
thoroughly as if we crashed from a hun- 
dred miles up on Earth.” 

Boehm said nothing to that. There 
was nothing to say. 

A fter a moment he got up and 
went to the plane’s controls. En- 
right and Mildred followed him, and, in 
a little while, Rea Ray. Behind them, 
Fowler and Gates argued — Fowler 
earnestly and hopelessly. Gates exhib- 
iting only impatience and annoyance. 

“He’s one cold proposition,” said En- 
right, staring at the big, stolid engi- 
neer. “I don’t think he’s got a nerve in 
his body.” 

“He’s the bravest man I’ve ever 
seen,” Boehm said in a voice that was 
not quite steady. “I’ve heard of men 
who really had no fear whatever of 
death. I’d never thought to see one. 
But he’s like that.” 

The round black hole in the star- 
studded sky was growing rapidly more 
all-engulfing, indicating that, whatever 
celestial body it was they approached. 



RIFT IN INFINITY 



105 



it was quite small. A large sphere could 
have been glimpsed at a distance it 
might have taken weeks to traverse. 
Or centuries. 

“But there can’t be a planet!” said 
Enright. “So close to Earth I It would 
have made its presence felt in all sorts 
of ways. High tides and things.” 

“It isn’t close to Earth,” sighed 
Boehm. “It’s at the opposite end of 
space from Earth.” 

“But space hasn’t any end. How can 
a thing without end have an end?” 

“Stop it,” said Mildred. “Look. The 
thermometer.” 

It was comparatively warm in the 
cabin ; only fifty-two below. And it was 
perceptibly easier to breathe. Econom- 
ically, Boehm reached and turned off 
the oxygen tank ; but a moment showed 
that they were not entirely independent 
of that, after all; so he turned it back 
on, at a low rate of issuance. 

Fowler’s voice came to them. 

“It’s impossible. Empty as space is, 
the chances are billions to one that we 
couldn’t be thrust into it at random, 
and happen to land near one of the rare 
celestial bodies.” 

“All right,” rasped Gates. “It’s bil- 
lions to one that a planet like Earth 
should develop atmospheric and other 
conditions that would make that rare 
thing, life, possible. Yet it did so de- 
velop them. Which means that your 
billion-to-one shots do turn out some- 
times.” 

“I wish,” said Boehm, “that the pro- 
fessor would turn his brain away from 
the impossibility of a planet — which we 
all know is just under us — to the prob- 
lem of what it might be like.” 

All the sky ahead of them— or under 
them, if one would choose to state it 
that way — was now a black and starless 
void. But still the blackness looked 
more like a hole than a solid. 

“Maybe the thing’s like a big cup, 
and we’re going down into it,” said En- 
right dubiously. 

“Hardly,” said Boehm. “Any sub- 
stance turning free in space is bound to 
assume a spherical shape.” 

“We don’t know that. It’s only a 
theory — ” 

“Men are funny,” said Mildred, with 
a catch in her throat that she turned 



into a shaky little laugh. “With sure 
death ahead of us, you can argue about 
the shape of the thing we’re going to 
die on.” 

“Better to argue than go nuts,” said 
Enright. 

“Oh, I didn’t say men were foolish. 
I just said they were funny — ” 

“Look at the altimeter!” said En- 
right suddenly. 

T hey stared. It registered fifty- 
five thousand feet. 

Boehm levelled the plane out with a 
jerk that even in that thin atmosphere 
caused a sickening lurch. 

“Lord, we’re going fast! I don’t 
think I can set her down at the landing 
speed we’ll have to take in this air.” 

“It will be all right if we can find a 
long enough flat space,” said Mildred. 

“You find it, will you?” said Boehm. 
The three stared out— down now, in- 
stead of ahead, since he had straight- 
ened the T-12 out of what had become 
a meteorlike power dive. Then they 
looked at each other. 

“You can’t see a thing. Not one damn 
thing. The ball might be as smooth as 
a marble — or cut up with cliffs and 
chasms like a big waffle-iron. We’ll 
have to squat at random, that’s all.” 
Mildred’s hand was trembling on En- 
right’s shoulder. 

“You know how much chance you’d 
have of avoiding a crackup if you came 
blindly down on Earth at random!” 
“We can only hope that this is more 
level than Earth,” said Boehm. 

He tilted the nose down. And then 
there was no more talk. He snapped 
out the lights and peered ahead, hoping 
that thus he could see more. But there 
was still nothing to see. Nothing! The 
altimeter registered ten thousand feet. 
And they knew it was right. They 
could, curiously, teel the great mass be- 
neath them. But all they could do was 
feel it. They could no more glimpse it 
than you caji glimpse black velvet in a 
black room. 

The altimeter gave them six thou- 
sand feet, then four, then one. 

“Tell ’em to hang on back there,” 
said Boehm, after moistening his 
cracked lips. 

Mildred went back. Enright saw her 



106 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



lips move, through the glass partition, 
and saw her sit down and grasp the 
padded chair-arms. 

Five hundred feet. Two hundred. By 
a sort of instinct, Boehm cut the mo- 
tors. A wheel scraped, jarring the 
plane badly. And then they landed, 
with a crash that would have tom the 
T-12 to pieces had it weighed its nor- 
mal amoiuit instead of perhaps a quar- 
ter of its Earth weight. 

Boehm braked, but the plane seemed 
to run on endlessly. They bit their lips, 
whispered curses that were like 
prayers, and waited to smash against 
an obstruction or careen into a bottom- 
less pit. But neither happened. The 
plane dipped and rose as if rolling over 
the swells of a petrified ocean, and fin- 
ally stopped, intact. 

“The motors!” Gates’ rasping voice 
sounded. “Don’t stop ’em. We might 
not be able to start ’em again in this 
cold. And we need the generators for 
juice for these suits.” 

Boehm cut the motors to their slow- 
est idling speed, and moistened dry, 
cold-split lips. 

“Well,” he said, “we’re here. Wher- 
ever the hell here is.” 

“Wonder if there are any borax de- 
posits in this place?” came Gates’ calm, 
dry voice. 



CHAPTER IV 
The Eyes Outside 



O UTSIDE, it was fifty-two below, 
according to the thermometer. 
Or a very little colder. The men were 
out on the wing, and the temperature 
felt aboiit the same. For the moment 
they were cut off from the warming 
current generated by the slowly turn- 
ing motors; but they could take the 
cold for a little while. The worst trou- 
ble was breathing. They had barely 
been able to gulp enough air in the 
cabin, with the aid of the oxygen tank. 
Out here each breath of rarefied atmos- 
phere was an agony. But they could 
take that, too, for a short time. 

The landing lights were all on, 
streaming downward. And the result 



was fantastic. Immediately under the 
plane the light stopped, as light does 
when it hits an opaque object. Yet 
they could not see what substance it 
was that stopped it. It was as though 
the plane rested on dull black glass, 
which reflected no pinpoint of light, and 
into which the eye could penetrate un- 
til vision was lost- in nothingness. 

There was the plane, bathed in illu- 
mination. There were the solid-looking 
beams from the floodlights, like short 
legs on which the T-12 rested. And 
then there was nothing. 

“The planet’s invisible,” said En- 
right. 

“No,” said Fowler. “If it were invis- 
ible, we could see through it, see the 
stars on the other side. The substance 
of which it is composed is completely 
nonreflecting, that’s all.” 

“I don’t know that it makes any dif- 
ference,” said Boehm dully. “We can’t 
live here. The thin air and the cold 
make that impossible, even assuming 
there was some sort of food to gather 
or water to drink. We’re no better off 
than we were up there.” He waved 
toward the thin, cold glory of space. 

“At least we can live longer,” pro- 
tested Enright. “We can live on for 
hours after the gas gives out, before 
we’re frozen to death. It’s warmer 
down here, and — ” 

“And what?” said Gates irritably as 
Enright stopped. 

The younger pilot was facing away 
from the cabin, looking into blackness 
along the huge wing. He spoke with- 
out turning his head. 

“I’m going crazy, I guess.” 

“None of us are completely rational 
at the moment, I’d say,” Gates snapped 
dryly. “But what is your particular 
form of lunacy?” 

“I thought I saw something move out 
there.” 

“What!” 

The others crowded close. Then 
Gates said : “How could you see some- 
thing move, when there’s nothing what- 
ever visible in this cursed place? What 
did you think you saw?” 

“Eyes,” said Enright, still staring. 
“Or a pair of light patches in the black- 
ness that reminded me of ejres, any- 
way.” 



RIFT IN INFINITY 



107 



“If there were anything to move 
here,” Fowler said didactically, “it 
would hardly have eyes. They’re of no 
use when there’s nothing to see.” 

“It is barely possible,” Gates re- 
torted, “that another kind of eye might 
see things here where ours can’t. I see 

no reason why ” 

“Look! There they are! Eyes! I 
did see them !” 

The men stared over the wing. 
Boehm exclaimed; the rest were silent. 

Out in that impenetrable blackness 
two dim patches were faintly to be seen. 
They looked like circles of dark grey 
paper held out there, perfectly round, 
about a foot apart, and perhaps half 
that in diameter. 

T hey foreshortened from circles to 
narrow ellipses, as if whatever head 
they might be set in had turned side- 
ward. Then they disappeared. 

The men looked at each other. By 
common consent they moved back 
toward the door of the plane’s cabin. 
“Life here,” whispered Boehm. 
“Something moving, at any rate,” 
said Gates calmly. 

“Dangerous?” wondered Enright. 
Gates shrugged. “There’s no way to 
tell. If those eyes were set in the kind 
of head in which eyes usually occur on 
Earth, they indicate a very large ani- 
mal, from their size and their distance 
apart. But they may be set in anten- 
nae, and belong to quite a small, and 
harmless, creature.” 

“There’s one way to find out,” said 
Enright, with a sound coming from his 
lips that was meant to be a laugh, and 
turned into something far different. 

“Don’t be a fool,” snapped Gates, 
clutching his arm as he moved out 
along the wing. “Why throw your life 
away before death is necessary?” 

“It may be something we can use for 
food — ” Enright began, a bit wildly. 

“Or it may be something that will use 
us for food ! Look.” 

Gates’ voice didn’t change a bit from 
its dry ill-humor. But a subtle extra 
resonance or something in it made the 
other three turn quickly. 

There was the pair of eyes again, 
seeming nearer now. And now they 
were not alone. 



Here and there, dotting the black- 
ness, with no sound of movement ac- 
companying their appearance, were 
other dim grey circles. In pairs. Al- 
ways in pairs. And almost unvarying 
in their height from the unseen surface 
of the substance composing this small 
planet: about five feet. 

“There are dozens of them,” said 
Boehm tensely. “I wonder what the 
devil they are?” 

He peered at the sky, trying to catch 
outlines of the eye-bearers against the 
stars. But the stars weren’t studded 
thickly enough for that. Here and 
there, against a cluster, he could catch 
a short glimpse of a curve that might 
have been back or head of one of the 
things. But that was all. 

Then the plane moved suddenly. Not 
very much. It tilted a half inch, and 
tilted back again. But it distinctly had 
moved. And under the end of the wing 
they stood on, the men could see several 
of Ae dim eyes, much nearer than the 
rest. They could hardly see these be- 
cause the light from the plane, at that 
point, seemed to wash them out rather 
than make them clearer. 

Light pouring out there, and reveal- 
ing nothing at all. And the plane 
moved a second time, more perceptibly. 

Then Boehm yelled hoarsely. The 
fabric around his right ankle constricted 
as though a serpent had coiled there, 
and he started to slide over the edge 
of the wing, fighting desperately to 
draw back. 

Gates was first to grab him. The 
others caught him too, and pulled him 
back, breaking at last a strong, slug- 
gish pressure that tugged against them. 

“Into the _ plane,” snapped Boehm, 
gasping and staggering. “Whatever 
those things are — they’re big — and 
they’re hostile — ” 

M oving as fast as they could, 
starved for air as they were, 
they scrambled back into the all-metal 
cabin. Rea Ray and Mildred stared 
at their white faces, and their wide 
eyes. Rea voiced the intuition of both 
the girls. 

“Oh ! There’s something — danger- 
ous — out there — ” 

It was Eiu-ight’s impulse to lie, even 



108 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



though the lie was obviously foolish: 
even as he sought for words the plane 
was lifted a little and thumped down 
again. But Gates was evidently a be- 
liever in letting ladies as well as men 
face facts. 

“There is,” he said, as though less 
moved by the danger fhan annoyed by 
the nuisance of it all, “something 
pretty dangerous. We don’t know what 
it is— or they are — though. We can’t 
see ’em !” 

“Bill — ” cried Mildred in a thin, fran- 
tic tone. 

For the plane had tilted as though 
banking for a turn, and only very 
slowly settled back again. The things 
outside were investigating it with blind 
power, stupid or intelligent, fumbling 
for the food within the metal or meth- 
odically preparing to break the confin- 
ing cabin to pieces; there was no way 
of telling. 

“Let’s get away from here,” panted 
Rea Ray. “We’ll be killed here. Take 
us up. Quickly!” 

“But — ” beg 2 m Boehm, hopelessly, 
shoulders drooping. 

“Again, she’s the only one around 
here talking sense,” grated Gates. “Up 
we go.” 

“I don’t think there’s a chance in a 
million of getting up,” replied Boehm. 
“I’ll have to have a ten-mile run to get 
us up in this thin atmosphere. Ten 
miles — over a surface we can’t even see ! 
Lord knows what we’ll crash into in 
that distance.” 

“Would you prefer just to stay here 
while those things outside break the 
plane apart and kill us, young man?” 
rasped Gates, staring. 

Boehm shrugged, and went forward. 
Enright started to follow, then stayed 
behind. He could do no good in the 
pilot’s compartment. If there was any 
conceivable way of lifting the T-12 off 
this surface, Boehm would find it. He 
was one of the best flyers in the United 
States. 

And that raised an odd echo in his 
brain, numbed as it was by disaster so 
bi 2 arre that he couldn’t even compre- 
hend it. The United States! Where 
would that microscopic atom in space 
be from here? 

He heard the motors roar up as 



Boehm gave them the gun. They stut- 
tered a little. They had cooled danger- 
ously in the terrific cold even though 
they had been idling all the time. Then 
their song became smoother, and rose 
to a roar. 

The plane lurched a little, started 
forward. The port motor stammered, 
started again. Enright went to 
Boehm’s side. 

“The prop hit something,” Boehm 
said, through clenched teeth. “One of 
the Things outside, I guess. They 
couldn’t be too solid, or the prop would 
have shivered. Though the thing that 
grabbed my leg seemed solid.” 

The T-12 was rolling rapidly now, 
up and down, as if over long, ocean 
swells, but striking no spot too rough 
to ride over. It slowed spasmodically, 
started once more. The two pilots 
stared at each other. Had they plowed 
into a group of the Things? There was 
no way of telling, any more than there 
was a way of telling wbat the Things 
were. 



CHAPTER V 
Sunlight 



T he motors were racing at top 
.speed. The plane must be ripping at 
a terrific pace over the unseen surface 
they were trying to leave. But, save 
for the pitching motion and the bumps 
they struck now and then, they could 
not tell that they were moving; there 
was no object outside to watch flash by 
as a gauge of their speed. 

The bumps eased, resumed, as the 
plane took off for an instant and then 




slumped back. Enright and Boehm 
were staring straight ahead, unwink- 
ingly, ready for the grinding roar of a 




RIFT IN INFINITY 



109 



crack-up. And then the bumps stopped 
permanently. Boehm dared ease back 
a little farther on the controls. The 
T-12 slanted up a little farther. 

They were off the surface, and safe 
— unless there were such things as hills 
and moimtains here. 

“So what?” said Enright, not realiz- 
ing that he had spoken aloud. “Where 
do we go from here?” 

Boehm said nothing. He kept haul- 
ing the plane up at as steep a slant as 
it would take in the thin gas outside. 
The glory of the stellar space grew 
slowly again. 

And Gates came into the compart- 
ment. He looked like a man who had 
got clear downtown from a commuter’s 
station and suddenly discovered that he 
has left his wallet, watch and business 
notes behind. 

“Of all the stupidity,” he fumed. 
“Why couldn’t one of us have thought 
of it before? At least it gives us a goal 
to shoot at, instead of simply mooning 
around out here in space.” 

“What goal?” said Boehm. “What 
are you talking about?” 

“That yoimg moving picture girl 
suggested it. Quite sensible, though I’d 
never have believed it before.” 

“Said what? For God’s sake, if you 
have any suggestion — ” 

“I have. A good one. Why shouldn’t 
we try to get back the same way we 
left?” 

The two pilots gaped at the engineer. 

“We got here through traversing 
some fault, or slippage, of space,” Gates 
said impatiently. “Well, why don’t we 
try to get back by recrossing the same 
crack, or whatever it is.” 

Still the two said nothing. Then 
Boehm, scowling, said: “How do you 
expect to find the spot? And what 
chance is there that the fault in space 
still exists?” 

“We can at least see if it exists,” 
snapped Gates. “As for finding it, 
you’re supposed to be a navigator, 
aren’t you? Didn’t you place any of 
the constellations after we’d got in 
strange sky?” 

Boehm shook his head, then straight- 
ened. 

“Yes! I did! That dagger-shaped 
one — we flew straight toward it—” 



“Then,” interrupted Gates phlegmati- 
cally, “suppose you try flying straight 
away from it for as long as the gas 
holds.” 

He went back to the other compart- 
ment. Boehm shook his head. 

“Absolutely fearless! He’s a man. 
Bill! And of course he’s right. Our 
best bet is to try to retrace our course, 
even though that’s impossible.” 

The tip of the dagger-shaped constel- 
lation showed clear. Boehm set a 
course that put the dagger squarely on 
the T-12’s tail. 

“Take the controls, will you. Bill?” 

E nright nodded. He alone knew 
the terrible tenseness that had 
gripped Boehm during that strange, 
blind takeoff; and knew the exhaus- 
tion that must grip him now. 

Boehm went back to the passenger 
compartment. Mildred went front to 
be with Enright. Boehm sat beside Rea 
Ray, whose hand went toward his. 

Fowler was covering a page with 
mathematical symbols. 

“What the devil are you doing now?” 
Gates jerked out. 

“Figuring the plane’s chances of pull- 
ing away from the planet’s gravita- 
tional force,” said Fowler. “It can’t be 
done. I can prove mathematically that 
we’ll never win clear.” 

“I should think that the fact that a 
plane can leave groimd at all, where 
the pull is strongest, would prove that 
it could keep on going up as long as 
its fuel supply held out and there was 
atmosphere thick enough to hold it,” 
growled Gates. “But then I’m no higher 
mathematician.” 

Fowler put away the paper. 

“Even if we could escape the planet’s 
pull,” he said, with complete hopeless- 
ness in his eyes, “we could never strike 
that warping of space again. No doubt 
it was instantaneous, and has straight- 
ened out long since.” 

“Why is thbre no doubt about it?” re- 
torted Gates. “When an earthquake 
opens a crack in the earth, that crack 
may last for days, or forever.” 

“Are you presuming to compare 
Earth, substance, with the intangible, 
space?” 

“Oh, go to sleep,” grunted Gate?. 



110 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



OEHM pressed Rea’s hand. 

“A great guy, isn’t he? I never 
knew a man could be as brave as Gates. 
I’m in a blue sweat. I admit it. But 
Gates acts like a man who is annoyed 
because his paper hasn’t been deliv- 
ered on time — and'that’s all.” 

He stopped, realizing that Gates’ 
final retort had not been purely rhe- 
torical. He was very sleepy, and he 
saw that the rest were too. The thin 
air, robbing them of vitality; the in- 
tense cold, combatted by the electric 
suits ; the terrific and exhausting nerve 
shock all had sustained — these things 
were mounting in overpowering drow- 
siness. 

That was all he knew. He sank into 
sleep— dangerous in that awful cold — 
so profound that it was as though he 
had been hit on the head. Sleep that 
lasted till a scream from up in front 
split his slumber. 

He jerked broad awake. The scream 
came again. From Mildred, up with 
Enright. He heard her words this 
time, but they made no sense for an in- 
stant. Then, as they penetrated under- 
standing, he shouted hoarsely and got 
to his feet. 

“Sunlight!” Mildred was screaming. 

Boehm smashed back in the aisle, 
and grasped an upright as, suddenly, 
the plane tossed Hke a rowboat in a 
typhoon. Up, up, till it hung by its 
nose, down again in a dizzy swirl, 
around and around like a leaf in a gale. 

And then the T-12 purred on an even 
keel again. And it was bathed in the 
liquid gold of sunshine, while far under 
it was the green Earth. 

Boehm got up and stumbled for- 
ward, muttering something, he didn’t 
know what. Mildred was sobbing and 
shivering. Enright sat bolt upright in 
his seat, with glazed eyes looking down 
at a large town. The altimeter said 
thirty-nine thousand feet. 

“We’re home,” came Enright’s 
strained, high voice. There was blood 
on his chin where he had bitten almost 
through his lip. 

The radio ear-phones caught En- 
right’s eye. 

“See where we are. That town looks 
familiar but I can’t place it.” 

He picked up the phones, hearing the 



door behind him open as he did so. 

“T-12. T-12. Calling T-12.” 

“Okay,” Enright said, in the strange, 
shrill voice. 

“Bill? What the hell happened? I 
couldn’t get you for a few minutes.” 

“You couldn’t — what? For how 
long?” 

“A couple of minutes. Or, I don’t 
know, maybe it was only one minute. 
Seemed longer. Did your radio go on 
the blink?” 

Enright moistened his lips. He 
couldn’t seem to find any words. He 
recognized the town below them, now. 
It was Tia Juana. 

“Did you hit some kind of electrical 
storm?” persisted Herb. “A couple of 
the mechanics here say they thought 
they saw a black streak straight up, but 
can’t be sure because it seemed to flick 
across the sky so fast. Like a big crack, 
or fault.” 

What was to be said ? Enright didn’t 
know. He took refuge in a lesser re- 
port for the moment. He didn’t want 
to seem insane. 

“Look, Herb. Bad news at this end. 
One of our passengers, an old lady, just 
died of heart failure. I’ll talk to you 
later.” 

Boehm and Gates came in. There 
was irony on Gates’ face. 

“If you can find a way to report this 
without having us all put in an asylum, 
young man, you’re good.” 

Boehm turned to the engineer. 
There was reverence in his eyes. 

“May I express my admiration of 
you, sir? I’d never have believed there 
existed a man who really didn’t know 
fear, if I hadn’t seen one. You ! It was 
entirely due to your unbelievable fear- 
lessness that we pulled out of this. 
Now that it is all over — Mr. Gates! 
What’s wrong?” 

For suddenly Gates was reeling. His 
face was literally blue, and his eyes 
were like empty holes. He was, in a 
word, the most horribly frightened per- 
son Boehm or Enright had ever seen. 

“All over . . .” the engineer chat- 
tered. “Oh, my God . . . don’t have to 
pretend any more ... all over now. 

“Gates — ” exclaimed Boehm, reach- 
ing for him. 

But Ludlow Gates had fainted. 




The 

SOLAR 

Me nace 

A Criminal Scientist Plots to 
Destroy The World by 
Means oF The Sun*s 
Energy I 

By 

S. K. BERNFELD 

Author of “Bent Light,” “The Slow Vacuum,” 
etc. 



H igh in the stratosphere, Melas 
Radok piloted his little strato- 
car. His bulbous forehead and 
Satanic eyebrows shaded a pair of bale- 
ful eyes. A cruel, thin-lipped smile on 
his face, he thought of the escape he had 
just made from the International prison 
on Earth. They had thought they 
could hold him in bondage — the fools! 
They had called him a menace to so- 
ciety, an arch-criminal to be eliminated. 

But there would be no trial for him 
now. Friends had smuggled some 
euthanil to him in prison. Radok had 
discovered this potent sleep-producing 
powder and he alone, in all the world, 
had its antidote coursing through his 
veins. One spray of this drug in the 
air and his guards fell into a coma 
while he, protected by the antidote, was 
able to walk safely to the rocket-ship 
waiting for him, that meant freedom. 
With the click of a switch, he set the 




It wot too late. 



stratocar’s audio-vision set on. A 
fluorescent picture slowly appeared ; 
color-vision apparatus was still too 
elaborate for rocket-ships — and the 
image of the Planetary Police Patrol 
captain faded into view. 

The executive was addressing a 
world-wide afldience. Already they 
were broadcasting news of his escape, 
that he was to be hunted down, in- 
stantly ray-beamed. 

Radok smiled complacently to him- 
self. Let them try and find his hiding- 
place. He set the ship’s controls at 

111 



112 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



maximum, and the craft sped through 
the rarefied air in a direction due south. 

In a cavern hollowed out beneath 
fathomless tons of ice, at the south 
magnetic pole, was hidden Radok’s 
secret workshop. Built by men he had 
later killed, the place ^^as unknown to 
anyone but him. It was stocked with 
technical resources for the production 
of any instruments he desired. Food 
and air supply were more than ample. 

Mankind was a disease. A cancer of 
the earth. And he, Radok, was deter- 
mined to cauterize the festering mass. 
They had outcast him. Well, he’d show 
them. 

And so alone, in his cavern at the 
south magnetic pole, Radok ruminated 
on the punishment he would inflict. It 
would not take long to perfect the 
needed machinery. 

He was going to destroy Earth and 
humanity by fire. He knew that, with 
the exception of radioactive energy, 
the heat of the earth was derived from 
the glowing ball of the sun. The sun, 
though only a minor star in the cos- 
mos, was nevertheless able to pour 
forth titanic quantities of energy in the 
form of radiation which was dispersed 
in all directions. And the earth, a mere 
pinpoint in space, ninety-two million 
miles away, was able to absorb but a 
minute portion of this output. But this 
small fraction of the sun’s heat was 
enough to warm it. 

All about the planet and its air enve- 
velope was empty space. Here the in- 
conceivably greater portion of the sun’s 
radiation was directed, to travel on and 
on for many years, perhaps in the end 
to be charted as a star in the heavens 
by the denizens on some foreign planet 
of a distant galaxy. 

Radok’s scheme was to make use of 
this immense sum of energy that the 
sun was radiating all about Earth. He 
planned his huge solar condensers so 
that the earth would attract more than 
its normal share of the sun’s rays. The 
greatly increased amount of heat the 
earth would receive would parch and 
wither all the land. So Radok intended 
to revenge himself upon society. 

S ITUATED as he was, at the south 
magnetic pole, Radok was able to 



draw upon the immense magnetic 
forces of the earth. Magnetism, in its 
natural state, affects only a few metals, 
notably iron. But Radok, with his 
knowledge of its relations with light 
energy, knew how to alter its prop- 
erties. Tapping this force at one of its 
foci, the South Pole, he directed it 
through his mighty apparatus, subtly 
converting it into another type of 
energy. This had the property of at- 
tracting light. As Radok’s machines 
began to function, this new magnetism 
was sprayed into the air to form a nim- 
bus around the earth, to draw the light 
as it was poured forth in tremendous 
quantities from the sun. 

It had been winter when Radok had 
escaped from his prison in the North, 
and so the South Pole was in the long 
day of summer. Safely concealed un- 
der the ice-cap, and far from civiliza- 
tion’s outposts, for long hours every 
day he listened tensely to the radio, 
hearing the world-wide weather re- 
ports, his face aflame with hate and 
fury. 

As the solitary days passed, Radok 
grew careless of his appearance and it 
was a grotesque figure of a man that 
sat by the receiving set chuckling 
often in a weird falsetto. Already the 
weather bureaus in the North had be- 
come perturbed at the mysteriously 
daily rising temperatures and conse- 
quent drouth. In the cities gigantic 
cooling systems tried to neutralize the 
heat. 

Meteorologists all over the world 
were frantic. There was much talk of 
sun-spot cycles, and of the aurora 
borealis. Ten scientists brought forth 
ten different theories about the 
weather. They declared, for the most 
part, that the heat was temporary, not 
really dangerous. It would eventually 
go away like all heat-waves. 

And through it all, Radok sat in his 
cavern, his frame shaking in silent 
mirth. It was just beginning. When 
the seas begin to boil, and the very air 
scorched the lungs, would they still say, 
“not dangerous?’’ 

He even gave up listening to the 
radio reports as he spent weeks tending 
only to his machines, while his brain 
was obsessed with the thoughts of re- 



THE SOLAR MENACE 



113 



venge that seethed in it 

At length, in an ironic mood, he de- 
cided to listen again to some news of 
the world so that he might hear the 
sufferings and lamentations of man- 
kind. He pressed a button that con- 
trolled the weather-report frequencies 
and prepared himself to listen to the 
grief-stricken voice of a speaker. 

“It is glad tidings that we bring you 
today, our friends,” a joyful voice came 
through. “The spell of terrific heat 
that has greatly disturbed our world ap- 
pears to be broken. From all over the 
world, scientists have sent in confirm- 
ing reports — ” 

Radok, startled, jumped up incre- 
dulously from his chair. Had his ma- 
chines stopped? He dashed over to 

them, but they were still operating, 
emitting the force that drew the heat 
to the earth. Was it possible that his 
calculations were wrong? But what, 

then, of the previous reports he had 
heard of intense heat? Again he 
turned his ear to the voice coming from 
the instrument. 

“An ample supply of the much 
needed rain is here and the crop peld 
this year promises to be the greatest in 
history. Further reports have come in 
that the winter in the north temperate 
zone will be warm enough for an addi- 
tional harvest while tropical tempera- 
tures appear, at the same time, to be 
down to comfortable levels — ” 

With an angry snarl, Radok turned 
off the voice. What madness possessed 
Earth’s scientists? How d^ed their 
opinions go against his knowledge? 
And yet, the bought began to dawn 
that there was a possibility that they 
were right and he, wrong. 

Could it mean that somehow he had 
been benefiting mankind instead of 
punishing them? As this realization 
occurred, an ominous sound rang 
through the cavern. 

Above him, he could hear a crackling 
noise as countless crystals of ice rubbed 
over each other. The sound grew 
louder and louder, but its meaning was 
lost in the feverish tracts of Radok’s ob- 
sessed mind. 

F or a moment or two he paced the 
floor of the cavern in his agony of 



mind, heedless of everything. But a 
constant lightly drifting stream of 
needlelike particles that persisted in 
falling upon him impressed itself finally 
upon his consciousness. He recognized 
them for what they were, sharp bits of 
ice from the ice-cap above him. Star- 
tled, he looked up, and on the roof of his 
cavern he saw grim, greenish cracks 
which were widening visibly, slowly 
yawning. 

An awareness of what it meant burst 
upon the frightened man and he looked 
wildly about for cover. It was too late. 
The imponderable mass of ice above 
was breaking up, something he had 
never expected. With a loud clap, the 
roof of the cavern fell in. Radok was in- 
stantly crushed beneath tons of rend- 
ing, burying ice. 

I|C « :tc 4: 

THE AUDIO-VISION NEWS 

Printed in Yoiu' Audio-Set Ten Times Daily 
Subscription 17 Currency Units Per Annum 
Jan. 12, 2093 

Edition 9:20 A. M. (G. M. T.) 

Word has been received from the Hubert 
Timkins Expedition at Antarctica of the dis- 
covery of a huge cavern beneath the polar 
ice-cap. In it was the body of a man, 
crush^ beneath fallen ice. It has been posi- 
tively identified as the body of Radok, the 
scientist-criminal who mysteriously escaped 
imprisonment six years ago. 

Within the cavern were also many huge 
machines, which the expedition’s scientists 
are busily studying. It is believed at Ant- 
arctica that these machines have some con- 
nection with the intense heat-spell that was 
felt all over the world soon ^ter Radok’s 
escape. 

From a cursory examination, it has been 
determined that the machines were of a mag- 
netic natiur capable of handling intense 
quantities of force. While their use has not 
yet been completely discovered, the expedi- 
tion has at least found out that they at- 
tracted the suit’s light to the earth, in tre- 
mendously concentrated quantities. This is 
evidently what brought the heat about. 

But this additional heat, of its own accord, 
cooled the earth, thus forestalling Radok’s 
plans. The heat due to his engines was first 
felt at the equator, diminishing greatly as 
one approached the polar regions. There- 
fore the normal sdifference in temperature 
between the poles and the equator became 
greatly increased. This made for additional 
mtensity in the force of the winds, since 
they are only convection currents. 

Due to this increased windiness and a 
higher temperature on the earth’s surface, 
the process of evaporation of water from the 
ocean and the waters of the earth was enor- 



114 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



mously accelerated. An immense bank of 
clouds was established all around the earth, 
which effectively reflected back all the in- 
creased radiation that was coming to the 
earth. 

Thus, the temperature at the earth’s sur- 
face was decidedly lowered soon after the 
onset of the heat and, tn addition, the pro- 
tectiye cloud-bank tempered the winter and 
provided beneficent amounts of rain. 



Radok’s death was due to a fault in the 
layer of ice above him. When the warm 
spell came, the ice melted slightly. But 
when the cooler temperatures were re-estab- 
lished, the ice-cap developed a fault in its 
structure when re-freezing. This, the Tim- 
kins Expedition has established, was the one 
cause of Radok’s death, a death which he 
brought upon himself just as effectively as if 
he had committed suicide. 



THE WEINBAUM MEMORIAL VOLUME 



DAWN OP FLAME and other stories by 
Stanley G. Weinbaum. Published privately by 
Conrad H. Rupert. $2.50. 

T his volume, the long and anxiously 
awaited Weinbaum Memorial Volume, 
contains seven of Stanley Weinbaum’s best 
stories, including four of his “weird animal’’ 
stories: “The Mad Moon,” “A Martian 
Odyssey,” “The Lotus Eaters,” and “The 
Red Peril.” Also, “The Worlds of If,” from 
the rib-splitting van Manderpootz series, 
“The Adaptive Ultimate,” which was pub- 
lished under the pseudonym of John Jessel, 
and Anally, the previously unpublished long 
novelette “Dawn of Flame.” 

Since most of the readers of this review 
have read the previously published stories, 
comment on them would be superfluous and 
praise presumptuous. Some who knew 
Weinbaum said that in a short time, had he 
lived, he would have taken his place in the 
top flight of science Action writers. Those 
critics are in error. From the moment that 
“A Martian Odyssey” was published, Stanley 
Weinbaum was not only a member of the top 
flight, but was, perhaps, in a class by him- 



self. His writing was smooth, concise, and 
literate, combining plausibility, humor, im- 
agination, and an inimitable literary style. 

“Dawn of Flame” will be a surprise to the 
vast majority of Weinbaum’s admirers. 

“It is, briefly, a story of the interregnum, 
about 2200-2300 AD, when our present west- 
ern civilization has broken down and the 
new world civilization is developing. It has 
much in common with John Collier’s “Full 
Circle” and with H. G. Wells’ “Things to 
Come,” but its style and theme are distinc- 
tively Weinbaum’s. It is a greater literary 
achievement than all of his more conven- 
tional stories together, and earns for him 
the right to be included in the ranks of the 
great story tellers of all time — that glorious 
army that ranges from Homer and Schehe- 
razade and Rabelais to Mark Twain and 
Kipling and Ambrose Bierce. 

Stanley Weinbaum died just as he was get- 
ting into his full stride as a writer. But he 
left a few precious tales behind him, and 
those tales will not be “interred with his 
bones.” They live, and will live. — J. D. C. 



SCIENTIFILM REVIEW 



THE ETERNAL MASK. Produced In Berne, 
Switzerland. Director: Warner Hochbaum. 
Cast: Mathias Wieman, Olg^a Tschechowa, 

Peter Petersen, Tom Kraa. German dialogue; 
full English titles. From the book of the same 
name. 

A t the close of the World War Europe 
produced “The Cabinet of Dr. Cali- 
gari,” a Aim in which the audience shared 
the viewpoint of the insane protagonist. 
Now, nearly twenty years later, comes “The 
Eternal Mask,” an interesting and well- 
staged photoplay dealing with the phenome- 
non of split personality. Far from being a 
dull treatise, it is an exciting and dramatic 
story of a doctor who believes himself guilty 
of murder, and whose mind crumbles be- 
neath the strain. 

From the Arst moment when Dr. DuMar- 
tin turns from his dying patient to whisper 
to a colleague, “Why are you staring at 
me?” interest mounts steadily to a striking 
climax. ScientiAcally sound and powerfully 
dramatic is the sequence in which DuMartin 



comes to believe that his reflection in a 
stream is himself; bizarre and haunting is 
the grotesque dream-world through which 
DuMartin wanders, seeking the other Du- 
Martin whom he believes has killed his pa- 
tient. Intelligently scored music adds to the 
effectiveness of these fantastic scenes. 

Underplayed notably by Mathias Wieman 
as Dr. DuMartin, the Aim offers interesting 
comparison to Hollywood’s “Private 
Worlds.” Similar are the sequences in which 
disembodied voices whisper to the victim. 
But “Private Worlds” did not attempt to 
show the objective dream-world of the sub- 
ject, and there “The Eternal Mask” excels. 
Watch for the angle shots of the descending 
elevator, and the climactic scene between 
DuMartin and his dream-self — “the man 
with a mask on his face.” Don’t be fright- 
ened away by the German dialogue, for the 
English sub-titles are less silly than most of 
their kind. This Swiss production is worth 
a dozen like “Things to Come”! — H. K. 



Coming Soon: A Special Article on Rockets by WILLY LEY 



Science Questions 
and Answers 

T his department is conducted lor the benefit of readers who have per- 
tinent queries on modern scientific facts. As space is limited, we can- 
not undertake to answer more than three questions for each letter. The 
flood of correspondence received makes it impractical, also, to promise an 
immediate answer in every case. However, questions of general interest 
will receive careful attention. 





NEBULAE 

Editor, Science Questions and Answers: 

I am not quite clear as to what nehnlae 
are. I’ve heard them described as “gaseous” 
and as composed of groups of stars. Are 
there different kinds of nebulae? 

E. W. 

Evanston, m. 

There are three distinct type of nebulae, 
which word is Latin for “mist” or “cloud”: 
the so-called planetary nebula which consists 
of a single star surrounded by an atmosphere 
as much as 10,000 times larger than our sun; 
the well-known ring nebula in Lyra is an ex- 
ample. All planetary nebulae exist within 
our own galaxy. 

The nebulae of the second type, called 
galactic nebulae, consist of tremendous 
regions of luminous gases surrounding entire 
groups of stars. These gases are extremely 
tenuous, more so than our best man-made 
“vacuums.” They also exist within our 
galaxy. 

The planetary nebula gives off hundreds of 
times the light that our sun does. The 
galactic nebula shines hundreds of thousands 
of times brighter. But now we come to the 
extra-galactic nebula which radiate millions 
of times the light a single sun does. 

These “nebulae” are different, and are 
actually island universes, separated from our 
galaxy by vast gulfs of empty space. Yet in 
our telescopes they appear as the same tufts 
of fuzzy light as our own nebulae. They are 
clouds, it is true but of stars instead of 
wispy gases. Within them are the planetary 
nebulae and galactic nebulae that we have, 
but no telescope is able to search them out 
over that tremendous distance. The largest 
telescope in the world, the 100-inch reflector 
at Mt. Wilson, is barely able to make out the 
brightest of their separate sons. This tele- 
scope has caught tho image of an island uni- 
verse 140 million light-years away, observing 
it now as it was 140 million years ago when 
only primitive forms of life ruled Earth. 
Some two million of these island universes 
have been recorded. 

A tentative picture has been painted of the 
cosmos, and the nebulae are a vital part of 
it. In some inconceivable past all space may 
have been filled with a uniform whirl of atoms 
and molecules. Gradually condensation oc- 
curred. Each separate patch became a gal- 
axy, or island universe. In each separate 
patch, ours for instance, other patches sep- 



arated out and condensed finally to suns. 
The galactic nebulae of the second class rep- 
resent a halfway stage. The planetary 
nebulae represent a further stage. All other 
stars represent the final stage. 

With this hypothesis is the theory of the 
expanding Universe. The farther an island 
universe is from us, the faster it is moving 
away from us. As we measure the velocities 
of extra-galactic systems from telescopic 
limits inward, the speeds diminish, as though 
we are nearly the center of a macrocosmio 
explosion. Yet rather than an explosion, it is 
supposed to be an expansion of space itself, 
carrying its bits of matter with it. Fanciful 
as it sounds, there is some significant secret 
contained in this amazing theory of star- 
masses rushing away from a common center. 
—Ed. 

TELEPATHY 

Editor, Science Questions and Answers: 
Telepathy pops up in science fiction quite 
often, like a bad penny. What I’d like to 
know is if there is anything to it scientifii- 
cally. And Just WHAT is it supposed to he? 

B. D., 

Boston, Mass. 

Telepathy means, literally, “feeling at a 
distance.” Translating a little more freely 
— “thinking at a distance or to a distance.” 
At present telepathy and ghosts are about 
in the same class, from the scientific point of 
view. Except for certain as yet unsubstan- 
tiated tests (Columbia University and Sir 
Oliver Lodge) this mental phenomenon is not 
admitted to exist. Yet we must remember 
that science did not admit of Clerk-Max- 
well’s long-range waves till Hertz and Mar- 
coni came along, ,to usher in radio. Nor in 
transmutation till radioactivity was discov- 
ered. Science cannot acknowledge the exist- 
ence of a phenomenon until it is logically 
proven to exist. And as yet telepathy has 
little solid proof behind it, though there is a 
growing tendency to speak of it less sar- 
castically and skeptically than formerly. 

The most scientife theory of telepathy is 
that minds reach oiff and touch one another 
through some medium, either the electromag- 
netic ether, or some utterly unknown cor- 
ridor. The agent of communication is sup- 
posed to be some manner of wave. Telep- 
athy is supposed to be an added sense. Sight 
is possible through light waves. Hearing is 
possible through sound waves. Supersensual 
thought transmission might therefore be an- 



116 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



other typo of wave, though no such wave has 
been recorded. All other theories of telep- 
athy resolve mainly into the spiritual and 
supernatural and have given it its black eye 
because of this undeserved association. — M. 

SUNSPOTS AND THE WEATHER 

Editor, Science QaesUoiK and Answers: 

Is it true that sunspots affect Earth's 
weather? Just what are the sunspots? 

J. D. 0., 
Scranton, Fa. 

Sunspots undoubtedly do have an appreci- 
able effect on Earth’s weather but to what 
extent has not yet been catalogued. It is 
known that magnetic stbnns, the aurora 
borealis, and the variations of Earth’s huge 
magnetic field are directly influenced by the 
snnspots. 

These mysterious areas of violent disturb- 
ance on the sun’s surface, the result of in- 
terior conditions, vary in size from 500 to 
50,000 miles. The larger ones would easily 
engulf a dozen spheres the size of Earth. 
They are very short-lived. One-fourth of all 
the sumspots ever recorded lasted less than 
one day. Some few last for a month or so. 
They are as independent in motion as bits of 
cork on a stormy sea, and often wander 
thousands of miles from their original posi- 
tion. They are obviously storm-centers which 
beat thier way over the sun’s surface, much 
as cyclones and tornadoes do here in Earth’s 
atmosphere. 

Although the sunspots appear dark, in fact 
black, against the general surface, they are 
in reality still brighter than any known 
luminescence on Earth. They are dark on 
the sun only in contrast to the sun’s incon- 
ceivably brilliant atmosphere of gaseous 
metals. 

One of the most interesting phases of the 
sunspots is their periodicity. Every eleven 
years they reach a maximum of number and 
size, when sometimes a hundred are visible 
at once. At the minimum of their period, 
one dlay not be seen for months, ifo rea- 
sonable explanation has been found for this 
as yet. 

Historically, the sunspots were noted in 
ancient times by the Chinese. But in mod- 
ern scientific times, they were first noted 
by the amazed Galileo with his first tele- 
scope, with which instrument he had already 
discovered Jupiter’s moons and Saturn’s 
Bings, and the starry composition of the 
Milky Way. 

The sunspots have been a favorite study of 
astronomers since that time and a great mass 
of data have been recorded on them, yet 
their ultimate mystery is unsolved — as to 
what causes them in that great, flaming ball 
of superheated matter which gives life and 
light to Earth. — Ed. 

NATURE'S PROBLEMS 

Editor, Science Questions and Answers: 

Can you answer these natural history ques- 
tions? Are animals color-blind? Why do 
salmon sm^) at luree during their fresh-water 



spawning period, when they are not supposed 
to eat? Why are dpiders not snared on their 
own wehs? Why does heather grow on the 
barren moors? Why does a hat sometimes 
tumble in mid-air? Why are earthworms? 

F. A, 

Glendale, Calif. 

Natural history is replete with riddles that 
can sometimes be answered only by logic. 
Host animals are color-blind to blues and 
greens, but not to reds and yellows. It is 
said that hens, if given a mixture of yellow 
and blue grains, will eat the former first, 
then peek slowly at the latter. 

In common with certain other forms of life, 
salmon have their nutritive and reproductive 
periods sharply separated, the former in salt 
water, the latter in fresh. Yet it would be 
unreasonable to assume that the spawning 
salmon, confronted with what seems to be a 
juicy fly or minnow, will totally ignore it. 
It can do without food at this time, bent on 
more serious business, but is not lacking in 
its normal appetite. 

The spider’s web, so sticky and fatal to 
Hies and other victims, doee not trap the 
weaver himself because the microscopic hairs 
on his logs are oiled, protecting him from the 
viscid secretion on the strands of the web. 
Naturalists have observed the spidor spread- 
ing this oily protection over its body so that 
it will be free to dance nimbly over the web 
that traps its victims. 

Heather grows in those barren moors where 
few other plants can live because of a sym- 
biosis — mutual benefits between two separate 
forms of life — between itself and a certain 
fungus. This partnership, at the slight ex- 
pense of some of the heather’s sap, furnishes 
it with the all important nitrogen, which the 
barren soil lacks. 

If a bat has caught a rather large insect 
in mid-air, and must give it a second bite 
which will end its struggles, it is confronted 
with the problem of opening its mouth and 
losing the insect, or of having a third agency 
stuff it in further. This third agency is its 
own wing, with which it pokes the insect 
further into its mouth. While it uses the 
wing, it cannot flap it, and as a result dips 
in Uie air in characteristic bat fashion, only 
to recover in a split second and go on in 
search of more food. 

It is a good thing that earthworms are! 
There are 50,000 individual worms per acre 
of arable ground. In a year’s time these 
50,000 pass ton tons of soil through their 
alimentary systems, making it fertile. They 
remake the surface at the rate of three 
inches in fifteen years. Without this in- 
credibly numerous horde of indefatigable soil 
rejuvenators, which exist almost all over 
Earth’s surface, plant life would wither to a 
wretched minimum. — Ed. 

WEIGHT OF THE EARTH 

Editor, Science Questions and Answers: 

Several times I have heard, or read, that 
the weight of Earth is a certain amonnt. 
WUl yon please tell me by what this Is 



SCIENCE QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS 



117 



reckoned? Whenever we weigh anything it 
is measured hy the amount of attraction hy 
the earth’s gravity, hut naturally the earth 
itself cannot he used when determining its 
weight. Please explain. 

B. A. S. 

Olendale, Calif. 

Strictly speaking, the Earth has no weight, 
since it is a free body in space, but it has 
mass. Its mass is represented by the number 
6 followed by twenty-one ciphers, which 
equals six thousand millions of millions of 
millions of tons. The simplified mathematical 
expression is 6 times 10.21 tons. 

Now to conceive of how this so-called mass 
is reckoned, we must differentiate between 
mass and weight. Mass represents the quan- 
tity of matter, based on large units of the 
standard proton particle. That is, a portion 
of matter of any sort from hydrogen to 
uranium possesses an invariable mass in pro- 
portion to the number of protons that com- 
pose it. This is irregardless of the amount 
of pressure or amount of gravitation to which 
it is subjected. It is the number of protons 
which we are measuring when we measure 
mass, and thus it is the quantity of matter. 
It is standard all over the Universe, so far 
as we know. 

Weight is a specialized measurement. It 
is the amount of attraction exerted on any 
object in a standard gravitational field. On 
Earth ’s surface, at sea level, mass and weight 
are identical. Or rather, weight has been 
standardized to equal mass. But if we take 
a cube of iron to the North Pole its weight 
changes, becomes smaller. Yet its mass is 
unaltered. A cube of iron would weigh 
much more on the sun than here, yet its mass 
would be the same. 

Now in measuring the mass (erroneou.sly 
called the weight) of the earth, we use the 
inflexible laws of gravitational attraction 
between heavenly bodies. Gravitation is a 
direct product of mass. Thus the amount of 
gravitational effect the Earth exerts on the 
Moon is a direct measure of its mass. 
The term 6,000,000,000,000,000.000,000 tons as 
Earth’s mass means that if Earth were cut 
up gradually into little pieces and all 
weighed separately at sea level, their grand 
total would be that many tons. For our mass 
units and weight units are equal at Earth’s 
sea level. Yet if these earth pieces were all 
weighed on Jupiter’s surface, the grand total 
would be two and a half times more. For 
the weight units at Jupiter’s sea level, if 
any, do not coincide with the standard mass 
units. 

Therefore, it is a figurative expression to 
say Earth weighs so many millions of tons, 
but it is actual fact when we say the same 



of its mass, of the quantity of matter in it. 
—Ed. 

PROTOPLASM AS AN EXPLOSIVE 

Editor, Science Questions and Answers: 
Somewhere I have seen the statement that 
protoplasm is an explosive. Is this true, and 
if so in what form? 

L. E., 

Englewood, N. J. 

You have probably seen a table of com- 
parisons between protoplasm and nitro-explo- 
sives. They are remarkably analogous. Both 
are made up chemically of a nitrogen group 
with a carbon compound. Both may be det- 
onated. Protoplasm’s detonation is ex- 
hibited in the reflex action of muscles, of 
working body cells, of thinking brains. 
Somewhere within the cell nitro-carbon com- 
pounds “explode” with all the force and 
energy of a similar quantity of nitroglycerine. 
Both protoplasm and nitro-explosives have a 
high speed of oxidation. Both give off the 
same waste products — carbon dioxide, nitro- 
gen, and water. Both produce short-wave 
radiation. In living matter this is the 
energy that runs through our nervous sys- 
tems. Both react to stimuli of light, sound 
and electric charge. Our eyes see only be- 
cause some sensitive nitro-eompound decom- 
poses (explodes) when struck by light. We 
hoar through the agency of nitro-molecules 
that transfer energy to our brain. Electric 
shocks make our muscles “kick” quite as 
readily as TNT kicks or explodes. 

Nitro-explosives, of course, are much 
simpler in structure than the nitro-com- 
pounds in our flesh, yet they behave in much 
the same way, showing that our life processes 
are more in the nature of a continuous series 
of tiny explosions within our body cells than 
a steady burning of carbon to carbon dioxide. 
This viewpoint also accounts very readily for 
those times when we react to instinct, with 
a rapidity that is astonishing. When we jerk 
our finger from a flame, strike blindly at a 
foe, leap back from a danger, bear up under 
a sudden physical strain, or shout loudly, 
something in our bodies is waiting, ready 
at split-second notice to supply huge quan- 
tities of energy, when we suddenly need 

them. This is more closely analogous to the 
release of explosive energy than to any other 
chemical reaction in the laboratory. And of 
course the chemical relationship is still more 
obvious, atom for atom. 

Thus our protoplasm may be described, 

quite credibly, as a storehouse of nitro-ex- 
plosives, but with no danger of all of it going 
off at once, as with the true nitro-explosives. 
—Ed. « • 



Next Issue: THE HOTHOUSE PLANET— a Novelette 
of Scientific Exploration by ARTHUR K. BARNES 




IN this department we shall publish your opinions every month. After 
•* all, this is YOlhR magazine, and it is edited for YOU. If a story in 
THRILLING WONDER STORIES fails to click with you, it is up to you 
to let us know about it. We welcome your letters whether they are compli- 
mentary or critical — or contain good old fashioned brickbats! Write regu- 
larly! As many of your letters as possible will be printed below. We can- 
not undertake to enter into private correspondence. 



LIKES 'EM EASY TO READ 

By C. C. Wilhelm 

Thank heaven for a story like “Green 
Hell,” by A. K. Barnes. I’m just an ordi- 
nary guy who likes his adventure with a 
scientific tinge, and most of the high-pow- 
ered stuff about ultra-dimensional worlds 
and etheric stases leaves me baffled and dis- 
appointed. 

“Green Helj,” now, the average reader can 
understand without constant references to a 
6-foot shelf of science books. I’m all for 
more stories on that general order. It’s no 
masterpiece, but it moves right along with 
several clever little scientific twists to give 
it the right atmosphere. — 1009 Brand, Glen- 
dale, California. 

(Thanks for the kind words. Another Venu- 
sian tale by Mr. Barnes next month — this 
time a novelette! — Ed.) 

BRAVO FOR Bli^R 

By Elmer Hansen 

Congratulations on a swell June issue! 
“Chessboard of Mars” was easily outstand- 
ing. Eando Binder has a knack that lets him 
get as fantastic as he wishes, but never be- 
comes ridiculous. I always look forward to 
his original and workmanlike stories. 

’The best of the short stories were “Black 
Vortex” by the ingenious Mr. Long, and 
“Green Hell,” by Arthur K. Barnes. I al- 
ways did like Mr. Barnes’ work, because he 
is fluent and generally has characters a 
reader can believe in as flesh and blood. I 
hoped he wasn’t kidding when he hinted 
there’s another Venus story in the offing, 
about Venusian fauna. I’d like to read some 
more along those lines, especially about 
those fascinating “whiz-bangs I” 

Personally, I don’t care for “Zarnak” or 
the Swap Column. But if enough readers 
like ’em, they don’t waste enough space to 
make me stir up a big fuss about it. 90% 
of the magazine suits me fine. I wish I 
could make other investments that yielded 
such returns! — 911 N. Arden, Beverly Hills, 
Calif. 

IS OUR FACE RUD! 

By James Wray 

In this, my first letter to you, let me say 
that I enjoy the type of stories in T.W.S. 



Let us have more of the theoretical type. 
“Menace From the Microcosm” was very 
good; also the others. Let me put in a plea 
for _ greater accuracy in stories. Notfflng 
spoils an otherwise good story more, in my 
estimation, than do statements which are en- 
tirely contrary to the fundamental laws of 
physics and astrophysics. No matter to 
what state of progress man may evolve to, 
I feel that these fundamental laws can never 
be altered. 

Take some examples from the June issue. 
“The Molten Bullet,” by Anthony B. Rud. 
First,_ the author says, “Polyphemus had a 
kink in its tail.” I always understood that 
the tail of a comet streamed directly away 
from the sun, and not behind the comet, like 
the smoke from a tracer bullet. Second: 
“No one could suspect that it was because 
the asteroid-comet was a mass of highly 
magnetic iron, attracted to the earth’s iron 
core!” How could the earth affect the aster- 
oid-comet when it was in the vicinity of 
Uranus? 

Third: Due to gravitational attraction, 
“It would probably reach the awesome ve- 
locity of 5CK)0 miles per second.” If an ob- 
ject were to fall from an infinite distance to 
the earth, with the sun directly behind the 
earth, adding its maximum amount of at- 
traction, the object could not strike with a 
velocity greater than 27 miles per second. 
With an initial velocity of 55 miles per sec- 
ond (as given to Polyphemus), it could not 
strike the earth at a speed greater than 61.3 
miles per second. 

Fourth: “That final night the entire 

heaven was fiUed from horizon to hori- 
zon — ” and “two more hours, and Polyphe- 
mus hits the outer rim of the earth’s atmos- 
phere!” 

Two hours is 7200 seconds. At a speed of 
61 miles per second, its distance would be 
over 500,000 miles. At the speed of 5000 
miles per second, its distance would be 
36,000,d()0 miles. If Polyphemus were as 
large as the earth (very unlikely, because it 
had only 1/12 the_ mass), at a distance of 
500,000 miles, its diameter would subtend an 
arc of less than one degree! — Division 2, 
U.S.S. Memphis, San Diego, Clalif. 

(Thanks for pointing: out these astronomical 
inconsistencies. Mr. Rud, the author, wishes 
to remind Mr. Wray that the Martian lan- 
e:uage is a bit ambiguous, which is perhaps 



why he may have slipped a couple of degrees 
in translating their message. — Ed.) 



AN ALL-STAR ISSUE 

By John V. Balfadonis 

The cover for the June issue is undoubt- 
edly the best so far. The artist is certainly 
improving in his cover work. “IF!” is much 
better than Zarnak. I look forward to the 
next in the series. 

It’s a pretty hard job to pick the best story 
in the issue. It seems to be a mighty close 
race between “The Chessboard of Mars,” 
“Green Hell,” and “Menace From the Micro- 
cosm.” 

Another improvement in this issue is the 
introduction of Wesso to your readers. I 
liked his illustrations immensely. I hope 
that his drawings in the next issue are 
equally as good, or better still. 

This is undoubtedly the best issue you’ve 
put out yet — the stories are all of high rat- 
ing, the illustrations are better — even “Zar- 
nak” is better this time. 

The Une-up for the next issue looks swell 
— all of which makes me plead all the more 
for T. W. S. to be published monthly. — 1700 
Frankford Avc., Philadelphia, Penna. 

NO SERIALS WANTED 

By Richard ScoH- 

Upon finishing my fourth issue of your 
magazine, I am glad to say I have enjoyed 
every one of them. I think “If” is very good 
and is very well drawn. Hold on to Binder 
— he’s a good artist! Among the best stories 
in the June issue are “The Dark Sun,” “Men- 
ace From the Microcosm,” and especially 
“Darcondra.” 

There has been much discussion lately 
about printing serials but, I think, a large 
amotmt of your mag’s popularity is due to 
publishing all complete stories — so steer 
clear of serials ! — Rolling Rd. Golf Club, 
Cantonsville, Maryland. 

BINDER TOPS 

By Roy A. Squires II 

Waiving all preliminaries. I’ll start by 
claiming Binder’s “Judgment Sun” the high- 
est ranking story in the April issue, which 
issue is certainly the best to date. There 
has, to my way of thinking, been a marked 
improvement with each number. The high 
spot in this month’s is the better grade of 
paper, which should be a part of all maga- 
zines worth saving. 

I usually refrain from coming right out 
and saying I don’t like something, but I 
really do not care for “Zarnak.” 

Zagat’s last story didn’t quite go over with 
me. His “Lanson Screen” was very good 
and “Lost in Time,” which is scheduled for 
next month, promises to be another just as 
interesting. I’m glad to see that Binder is 
returning too; I can’t get enough of his 
stories. I’m looking forward to your next 
issue. — 1745 Kenneth Rd., Glendale, Calif. 

(Continued on page 120) 



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'120 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



(Continued irom page 119) 

CORRESPONDENTS WANTED 

By S. B. Fine 

I am interested in chemistry and have 
been a regular subscriber of T. W.S. for al- 
most two years. This is my first letter to 
you. T. W. S. is leaps ^ead of any other 
science fiction book. I think the interior 
illustrations are somewhat mechanical and 
artificial — ^would like to see them more ani- 
mated. The cover illustrations, though, are 
superb. Let us have some reprints of Wein- 
baum’s earlier stories. I thoroughly en- 
joyed his “The Brink of Infinity.” I was 
attracted by the new feature on scientific 
oddities. Keep up the good work. And how 
about giving “Zamak” a bit of a rest? Don’t 
you think he gives the magazine a juvenile 
tone? 

Before I end, I would like to add that I 
am eager to hear from correspondents in 
foreign countries, principally America.— 60 
Hillbroud St., Berea, Johannesburg, S. 
Africa. 

WHY WE RATE 

By Robert Brower 

THRILLING WONDER STORIES, in 
its one year of existence, rates with me as 
the best science fiction magazine being pub- 
lished today. And here’s why; The stories 
are all by recognized leaders in the field. 
These men write good stuff consistently. 
The stories are all diversified, of every clas- 
sification — biological, astronomical, inter- 
planetary, time-traveling, etc. And what’s 
more, they’re snappy and complete. You’ve 
demonstrated that a science fiction story 
can be exciting ; that it can be dignified even 
though it is not cluttered up with dull 
pseudo-scientific passages. 

You have more features than any other 
magazine, better artists, and sell for the low- 
est price. You’re always trying to improve. 
Sometimes I wonder how you can do it — 
there is no model for you to emulate — yet 
the mag keeps getting better and better. 

And thanks for bringing back the old mas- 
ters to science fiction — such men like A. 
Merritt, Otis A. Kline, Arthur J. Burks, Ray 
Cummings and Ralph Milne Farley. — Pur- 
ling, Greene County, N. Y. 

WEINBAUM'S GREATEST STORY 

By Norman F. Stanley 

Since you seem to be collecting first let- 
ters, here is another to add to the stack. 
As a reader of the old Wonder Stories since 
the very first issue, I was naturally pleased 
to see it reappear on the newsstands. The 
departure under the present management 
from the former rigid editorial policy has 
given THRILLING WONDER STORIES 
the appeal that the original magazine had 
all but lost. 

The fiction content of the magazine is ex- 
cellent both as to quality and quantity. I 
particularly enjoy those stories which, 
though serious in theme, have a slight hu- 



morous touch to the narration. Accord- 
ingly, I appreciate such yarns as “The Re- 
venge of the Robot,” “Liquid Life,” and 
“Brain-Stealers of Mars.” On the other 
hand among the more serious opuses I 
nominate “The Lanson Screen” and “The 
Circle of Zero.” I must, however, put in an 
extra word of praise for the latter story. 
Opinions may differ, but I contend here and 
now that T. W. S. "has published Stanley G. 
Weinbaum’s greatest story. To be truthful, 
“The Circle of Zero” may not boast the 
brilliant interplay of ideas so characteristic 
of Weinbaum’s tales, but the beauty and 
powerful simplicity of the tale can never be 
equalled in science fiction. To say that I 
was profoundly affected by it is but a trite 
sentiment ; let it suffice that I have read and 
re-read this story and shall do so many 
times in the future. 

But to get on. Your line-up for future 
issues, too, looks extremely promising. I 
hope that “Penton and Blake” will put in 
their appearance regularly between the cov- 
ers of T. W. S. John W’s breezy style is re- 
freshing to say the least! It need hardly 
be said that I look forward with pleaswre 
to renewing my acquaintance with Ray 
Cummings’ “Tubby.” Let’s hope he hasn’t 
forgotten the erudite Sir Isaac and the mar- 
velous (but alas, unscientific) wishing 
power. 

Re “Zamak”; the strip started off veiy 
well, but I must agree with others that it is 
rapidly degenerating into the juvenile antics 
of a musclebound superhero. This latter 
sort of stuff may be all right in the Sunday 
comics but it is decidedly out of place in a 
respectable science fiction magazine. How- 
ever, to say that “Zamak” is absolutely 
worthless and should be eliminated is an- 
other matter. As it stands I should call it 
barely passable. Plaisted should pay more 
attention to details; his lack of consistency 
in the costumes and facial expressions of his 
characters is, to me, actually painful. But 
there’s no reason why “Zarnak” should not 
mend his ways; the first two installments 
were GOOD. 

In any event, don’t abandon the cartoon 
strip idea altogether. An extended outline 
of future “history” somewhat along the line 
of the first installment of “Zamak” would 
provide an excellent subject for one. Bind- 
er’s “If!” is very good. T. W. S. improves 
with every issue. Keep up the good work.— 
43A Broad Street, Rockland, Maine. 



REVIEWING THE YEAR 

By Joseph Hatch 

I’m telling you — 

A year ago Wonder needed something— 
and bad! Today Wonder doesn’t need much 
to make it the tops, the cream of the crop, 
and then some. A year ago Wonder occu- 
pied a permanent place upon the magazine 
rack. Today, sayeth I to the newsmonger: 
“Thou hast no THRILLING WONDER 
STORIES.” Sayeth he: “I didst sold my 
stock, quite.” 



THE READER SPEAKS 



121 



A. Merritt, Ray _ Cummings, Arthur J. 
Burks, etc. What a line-up of dearly belovrf 
old-timers. And brought to us through the 
courtesy of the new and greater Wonder. 
Thanks. I speak in terms of gratitude raised 
to the nth power. But there’s always to- 
morrow. 

And what will tomorrow bring? Will you 
kindly delete “Zarnak?” Will you enlarge 
“If”? Will yon induce Doc Keller to write 
something? And bribe A. Merritt into writ- 
ing some more shorts or novelettes? And 
go monthly, by all means? 

The May-June issue rates thunderous ap- 
plaiue from cover to cover. Your cover art- 
ist is superb. Contemplation of all six past 
covers should leave 2 inyone breathless. 

The contents — “Lost m Time” is lost to 
view in its own smoke, it’s that good. “The 
Black Vortex” runs a close second, so close, 
in fact, the difference would be imperceptible 
to even an “eye in the sky.” “If!” is origi- 
nal, comprehensive, entertaining, and educa- 
tional. If you must have a cartoon strip let 
it be “If!” And enlarge it by two pages. 
The announcement that “Tubby” will return 
deserves orchids. Remember “Around the 
Universe” and “The Thought Machine”? 
Okay, Mr. Cummings, let’s go! — 334 Maiden 
Lane, Lawrence, Kansas. 

A SUPER-ISSUE 

By T. Bruce Yerke 

C’EST MAGNIFIQUE! Man, oh man, 
what an issue! The June issue of T. W. S. 
was without a doubt the best issue put out 
since Thrilling Publications took over. 
Cover: super! Stories: ultra-super! Pic- 

tures: super! You’re going places mighty 
fast. 

Until this issue “Protoplasmic Station” 
was the best story. Now I say that “Chess- 
board of Mars” by Eando Binder has gained 
the title. Next would come “Menace From 
the Microcosm,” by John Russell Fearn. 
“Green Hell” was a little gem: VIVE 
Barnes! Also I don’t hesitate to give “Dark 
Sun” a prominent place in the issue. Gal- 
lun’s doinp: fine. 

Say! Did A. J. Burks give us a surprise! 
I was there the night that he was at Chap- 
ter 4, and I’m sure all the Chapter members 
enjoyed the talk plenty. The idea given to 
him about traveling back into time seemed 
to interest him quite a bit. It was .a fasci- 
nating theory, we discussed. Needless to 
say you could also go ahead into the past 
by using the same theory. I hope Mr. Burks 
can do something with the idea. — 157 N. 
Alexandria Ave., Los Angeles, .Calif. 



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The Magazine of 
Science— Invention— Experiments 

NOW ON SALE AT 

A NEW LOW PRICE 



By EANDO BINDER 



lOc 





T he total eclipse of the sun this 
June is a subject for the special 
attention of the world’s astron- 
omers, since it may well result in the 
discovery of a tenth planet. Astron- 
omers have long suspected the exist- 
ence of a tenth planet either beyond 
Pluto, or between Mercury and the Sun. 
The total eclipse this year will present 
certain favorable conditions that may 
reveal this long-sought-after heavenly 
body. 

The greatest of astronomical events, 
the discovery of a new planet, has oc- 
curred three times since 1781. These 
planets are Uranus, discovered by Sir 
William Herschel; Neptune, discovered 
by the combined efforts of Leverrier of 
France and Adams of England; and 
Pluto, discovered by a search based on 
the mathematical calculations of Pro- 
fessor Percival Lowell. 

AN ACCIDENTAL FIND 

Uranus was discovered by accident. 
While trying out a new telescope Her- 
schel was surprised to find a strange 
new planet appear in his range of vis- 
ion. It was far out beyond Saturn, 
which from time immemorial had been 
assumed to be the outermost planet of 
all. That was the first real discovery 
of a planet. 

Noting peculiarities in the orbit of 
Uranus, two young astronomers, Le- 
verrier and Adams, came to the con- 
clusion that the disturbance was caused 
by a new planet situated at a further 
distance from the sun. Working in- 
dependently of each other, both were 
able to discover the new planet, later 
named Neptune, in 1846. 



The SCIENCE 
FICTION LEAGUE 

A department conducted for members of 
the international SCIENCE FICTION 
LEAGUE in the interest of science fiction 
and its promotion. We urge members to 
contribute any items of interest that they 
believe will be of value to the organization. 

■ © 

EXECUTIVE DIRECTORS 

• 

FORREST J. ACKERMAN 
EANDO BINDER 
JACK DARROW 
EDMOND HAMILTON 
ARTHUR J. BURKS 
RAY CUMMINGS 
RALPH MILNE FARLEY 
WILLIS CONOVER, JR. 



THE SEARCH FOR PLUTO 
But the disturbances in the orbit of 
Uranus were not fully explained by the 
discovery of Neptune, and astronomers 
began searching for a new planet even 
further from the sun. Prominent 
among them were Percival Lowell and 
W. H. Pickering, two of America’s 
greatest astronomers. When Lowell 
died, the Lowell Observatory, using the 
figures of Prof. Lowell, took up the 
search where he left off. Their quest 
was crowned with success, and a new 
planet, now known as Pluto, was dis- 
covered in January, 1930. 

Though science has probably discov- 
ered all the planets in our Solar System, 
conjecture is still open concerning the 
habitability of the different worlds. In 
next month’s issue, Arthur K. Barnes 
presents stimulating theories concern- 
ing the probable environment of the 
planet Venus in his exciting novelette, 
THE HOTHOUSE PLANET. As- 
tronomers tell us that Venus is, in all 
eventuality, a steaming jungle. Mr. 
Barnes, in his story, pictures the 
strange life adaptable to such physical 
conditions. 

PENTON AND BLAKE 
Also, in the next issue, John W. 



122 



Campbell, Jr., continues his blithe ac- 
count of those two gay space-rovers, 
Penton and Blake, in a new novelette, 
of the satellite Callisto, THE IMMOR- 
TALITY-SEEKERS. It’s the best 
story so far of the entire series, and will 
introduce you to a new character, 
“Pipeline.” The strange automobiles 
encountered on Ganymede by Penton 
and Blake in this month’s story are met 
again on Callisto. You’ll be surprised 
when you learn the secret of the “mus- 
clemobiles.” 

In addition to many other complete 
novelettes and short stories, next 
month sees the return of one of science 
fiction’s most memorable characters — 
Ray Cummings’ humorous scientific 
adventurer, portly Tubby. Don’t miss 
the first of Tubby’s new experiments, 
THE SPACE-TIME-SIZE MA- 
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LEAGUE ! It’s an international organ- 
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followers of imaginative fiction — and it 
fosters that intangible bond between all 
science fiction readers. Just fill out the 
membership application blank provided 
on Page 125. There are members and 
chapters in every part of the globe — 
there are interesting get-togethers be- 
tween members. 

To obtain a FREE certificate of 
membership, tear off the name-strip of 
the cover of this magazine, so that the 
date and the title of the magazine show, 
and send it to SCIENCE FICTION 
LEAGUE, enclosing a stamped, self- 
addressed envelope. We will forward 
you, in addition to the certificate, fur- 
ther information concerning LEAGUE 
activities. And readers — write the 
editor of THRILLING WONDER 
STORIES' a regular monthly letter. 
What kind of stories do you want, what 
authors are your favorites, what do you 
think of our departments, artists and 
covers? We warit all your suggestions 
and criticisms. 



THE SCIENCE FICTION LEAGUE 

depArtDMQt cooducted for mtmbers of the Intematlonal 

Science Fiction League in the interest or science, sdence Action 
and its prooi^lon. We urge members to contribute any items 
of interest that they bellere will be of value to the organization. 

Th^ are thousands of members in the Lea«ae with about 
fony chapters in this country and abroad, and more than that 
number In the making all over the world. An application cou- 
pon for readers who hare not yei Joined will be fcMiud In this 
department. 

(Continued on page 124) 



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124 



THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



(Continued from page 123) 

FOREIGN CHAPTERS 

Leeds Scleiwe Fiction Leaxue (Chapter Xo. 17). Director, 
Douglas W. F. Mayer. 20 HoUin Park Rd., Boundhay, Leeds 8. 
Yorkshire, Ritgland. 

Belfast Science Fiction Leagne (Chai>ter No. 20). Director, 
Hugh C. Cars-woU. 6 Selina St., Belfast. Northern Ireland. 

Nuneaton Sdcnoe Fiction League (Chapter No. 22). Director 

M. K. Hanson, % Mrs. Brice, Main Boad. Narborough, Iiei- 
cestershlre, Bngland. 

Sydney Science Fiction League (Chapter No. 27). Director, 
W. J. J. Osland, 26 Union Street, Paddington, Sydney, N.S.W.. 
Australia. ♦ 

Ulasgow Science Fiction League (Chapter No. 34). Director, 
Donald G. MacKae, .36 Moray PL, (ilasgow, Scotland. 

Barnsl^ Science Fiction League (Chapter No. 37). Director, 
Jack Beaumont, 80 Pontefract Boad, Barnsley. Yorkshire, 
>lnglaDd. 

OTHER CHAPTERS 

There are other domestic Chapters of the LEAGT7E, fully 
organized with regular meetings, in the following cities. Ad- 
dresses will be furnished upon request by Headquarters to mem- 
bers who would like to j<^n some local branch. Chapters are 
listed chronologically acoordlng ta Qiarter; 

Lewiston, Ida.; Erie. Pa.; Ixw Angeles, Calif.; Montlcello, 

N. y. ; Mayfield, Pa. ; Lebanon, Pa. ; Jersey City, N. J. • IJn- 
«ln. Nebraska ; New York. N. Y. ; PbUadelphla, Pa. ; Oakland, 
Calif.; Elizabeth, N. J. ; (^loago, 111.; Tacoma, WaslL; Austin, 
Tex.; MUlheim, Pa.; Bloomington, ni.; Newark. N. J.; Stam- 
ford, Conn.; Denver, Cola; Lakeport, Calif.; Ridgewood. N. T.; 
Woodmere, N. Y. ; Beckley. W. Va. ; Tuckaboe, N. Y. ; South 
Am^y, N. J.; Pierre. S. Dak.; Albany, N. Y.; and Boonton, 

THE GREATER NEW YORK CHAPTER OF 
THE SCIENCE FICTION LEAGUE 

This branch has been holding meetings ap- 
proximately once a month, the date usually 
determined by the accessibility of a clubroom. 
Several members have become Inactive, while 
several more new persons have entered the 
branch. 

Nearly all copy for the branch organ. The 
Cosmic Call is in, and publication Is expected 
to occur almost immediately. It was decided 
that the organ would be mimeographed and 
sold for fifteen cents per copy. Reciprocal 
subscriptions with any other fan or club mag- 
azine are invited. 

A theater party to see "The Man Who Could 
Work Miracles" was called off, due to the 
fact that the science fiction convention fell 
on the same weekend as the picture’s pre- 
miere. Efforts are being made to write a 
comparative history of stf-films, for Inclusion 
in The Cosmic Call. 

All S.P.L. members resident In Greater New 
York and desirous of joining the chapter are 
requested to communicate with the Director 
at 677 Lincoln Place, Brooklyn. 

THE SECOND EASTERN SCIENCE 
FICTION CONVENTION 

Last February 21st the New York Branch of 
the International Scientific Association spon- 
sored a convention of science fiction fans, the 
second of what is expected to be an annual 
series. Half a hundred fan.s from ail over 
the Atlantic seaboard converged in New Tdrk; 
among them. Otis and Allen Kline, Manly 
Wade Wellman. Mort Welsinger, Charles D. 
Hornig, Otto Binder, and other prominent au- 
thors. editors, and fans. 

Talks were given, motion pictures were 
shown, and those present agreed that the 
meeting had done much to cement fellowship 
between the various factions of science fiction. 
It was decided that an attempt be made to 
hold a World Convention in connection with 
the 1939 New York World’s Fair. (Persons 
wishing to attend this, or desirous of securing 
further information on the Convention of this 
year, are requested to communicate with 
either lionald A. Woilheim, 801 West End 
Avenue, N. Y. C„ or William S. Sj'kora, 31-51 
41st Street, Long Island City, N. Y.) 

The whole convention spread over three 
days, but all business was transacted on Sun- 
day, the oth6r two days being used for "Get- 
Acquainted” gatherings and inspection of the 
city on the part of out-of-town delegates. 

FLUSHING CHAPTER 

James V. Taurasi, 137-07 32 Avenue, Flush- 
ing, New York, writes to inform us that he 



has formed a Chapter of the Science Fiction 
League for science fiction enthusiasts living 
in his vicinity. All those interested in co- 
operating with Mr. TaUrasl should get in 
touch with him soon at his address. 

LEEDS CHAPTER 

The Leeds Chapter, No. 17, has experienced 
a change in directorship, and Mr. Mayer, the 
former director, has been succeeded by Mr. 
Gottlife. The new Headquarters address is 4 
Grange Terrace, Chapeltown, Leeds 7, Eng- 
land. 

NEW MEMBERS 

UNITED STATES 

Prank A. Kreml, Jr., 1525 Sutter St., San 
Prancieco, Cal.; E. L. (jrundel, 2810 Leeward 
Ave., Los Angeles, Cal.; Donald !^ice, 2912 
Clifton Ave., Baltimore, Md.; A. H. Rogers, 
1349 S. Main, Carthage, Mo.; Jack Lowe, Box 
715, Willowbrook, Cal.; Robert Larkin, 42 
Church St, Nassau, N. Y.; Thomas Condon, 90 
Oliver St, Derby, Conn.; Douglas Sheeley, 
301-23rd St, Denver, Colo.; Bernard Kramer, 
1329 Locust St., Pittsburgh, Pa.; Vernon Crist, 
1005 W. Barre St., Baltimore, Md.,; Claude D. 
Wymer, 334 S. Dewight St; Jackson, Michi- 
gan; Frank Vernarsky, 701 Maple St, War- 
ren, Ohio; J. M. Rosshopf, 3315 Elmley Ave., 
Baltimore, Md. : Sidney Kauffman, 24 W. 2nd 
Ave., Denver, Colo.; David Hein, 2009 Creston 
Ave, Pleasantville, N. Y.; Wm. MacFnrlane, 
Jr., 24 CJhestnut St., Mount Vernon, N. Y.; 
P. Lane, 79 Beacon Ave., Jersey City, N. J.; 
William Visser, 40 Gregg St., S. W., Grand 
Rapids, Michigan; George Reahm, 58 Ridge 
Ave., Phoenixville, Pa.; John R. Huish, 2372 
Lake St.. Salt Lake City, Utah; R D. Richard- 
son, Box 2223, Juneau, Alaska; A. Silverstadt, 
1060 Union St., Brooklyn, N. Y.; Theo. Man- 
heim, 2739 Glenwood Ave., Philadelphia, Pa.; 
R. R. Winterbotham, 99 East Washington, 
Pittsburgh, Kan.; Robert B. Dubrow, 116-46 
Sutpkin Blvd., South Ozone Park, N. Y.; Fred- 
erick Jones, 8 Highland Ave., Middletown, 
N. Y. 

Geo. Winesdoerffer, 630 National Rd., Whee- 
ling, W. Va.. Edmund McCarthy, 859 Jackson 
Ave., N. Y., N. Y.; George Kramer, 1506 A So. 35 
St., Milwaukee, Wise.; Stanley Hansen, Box 35, 
Millbrook, N. Y.; Joseph Lewandowski, 4882 
East 95 St., Garfield Hgts., Ohio; Kenneth 
Dawson, Route 2, Wakarusa, Kansas; Joel 
Duckett, 6820H So. Vermont Ave., Los An- 
geles, Cal.; J. Kruger, 1270 Pacific St., Brook- 
lyn, N. Y.; Bernard F. Crone, 1223 3rd St., 
Portsmouth, Ohio; Clifton Nix, 186 Minerva 
St., Jackson, Miss.; Joe Lessesynski, 3530 E. 
Willis, Detroit, Mich.; R H. Turini, 4 Church 
St., Hillsboro, New Hampshire; Joseph Ser- 
pico, 816 Payne Ave.; Saint Paul, Minn.; Spen- 
cer Crill;^ 1968 Midwick Dr., Altadena, Cal.; 
Russert Chugley. Box 328, Monticello, N. Y.; 
Neil Randall, 248% 29th St., Ogden, Utah; 
Richard Kern, Barddock Hts., Md.; Conrad 
Weathersby, Box 125, Nixon, Texas; Jack 
Rhinehart. 1230 Carrollton, Indianapolis, Ind, ; 
George Weston, Pennell St., Skowhegan, Me.; 
Frank P. Holby, 133 Noe St., San Francisco, 
Cal.; Roy Dunham, 1800 S. Maple, Carthage, 
Mo.; Bill Campbell, 1046 Garrison St., Car- 
thage, Mo.; A. H. Rogers, 1349 S. Main, Car- 
thage, Mo. 

Carl Robinson, R. R. 1, Morganfield, Kv.; 
Eric Bergstrom. 444 B. 88 St.. N. Y., N. Y.; 
Russell L. Ketcham, 130 N. Fifth St., Alham- 
bra, Cal.; Fred Stone, 3315 Huron St., Chi- 
cago, 111.; Gerald Ganopole, 1343 N. Coronado 
Terr., Los Angeles, (3al.; Joseph Gaval. Rd. 4, 
Tunkhannock, Pa.; R. H. Haskell, 706 Ave. M., 
Brooklyn, N. Y.; Roland V, Dinger, Hecla, 
South Dakota; August J. Rose, Box 42, Dun- 
dee, Minn.; R. Meyer, 3186 Cambridge Ave., 
Chicago, 111.; George Strong, 251 W. 98 St., 
N. Y., N. Y.; Richard J. Silliger, 50 W. 77 St., 
N. Y. C.; L. B. Lien, 1404 Clolden Gate Drive, 
San Diego, Cal.; Clifford Andersen, 4605 Hor- 
rock’s St., Philadelphia, Pa.; Lester Bennett, 
601 Bird Ave., Buffalo, N. T.; Adrian Davis, 
611 W. University Ave., Champaign, III.; Bald- 
win Toth, 223 Dayton Ave., Clifton, N. J.; 
Bert Morgan, Box 472; Aguilar, Colo.; An- 
thony Dominick, 17-51 St. Johns PI., Brook- 



THE SCIENCE FICTION LEAGUE 



125 



lyn, N. T.: Melvin Lloyd, R. D. 2. Box 20A, 
Portasre, Pa.; James Autry, 602 North 23 St., 

8. Kapetansky, 1624 Taylor, Detroit, Michi- 
gan; B. R Reafran, 10th Ordnance Service 
Co.. Langley Field, Va. ; Emanuel Alexander, 
15 E. Center St., Baltimore. Md. ; Eddie Finn, 
Jr., 67 Jefferson Ave., New London, Conn.; 
Adolph SIdora, 8 Bank St., Paterson, N. J. ; 
Robert Areolere, 3208 Boulevard, Jersey City, 
N. J.; R. Morris, Box 144, Gratis, Ohio; Ralph 
C. Eislebeu, 305 Quincy St., Brooklyn, N. Y.; 
James R Hantse, P. O. Box 53. West Point, 
N. T. ; James R MoAlary, 402 Hope St., Prov- 
idence, R I.: John Glunta, 1355-80 St., Brook- 
lyn, N. T.; Roy P. Reisch, 138 Union St., Mll- 
lersburg. Pa.; Alan Brown, 2549 N. Monitor 
Ave., Chicago, 111.; J. J. Mayer. 400 E. 29th St.. 
N. T. C. ; Alex Osheroff, 478 18tn Ave., Newark, 
N. J.; Carl R Seward, Appleton City, Mo. 

NEW MEMBERS 
FOJIEIGN 

Thomas C. Toy. 6 Stobart Ave., Sedgley 
Park Rd., Prestwlch. Manchester. Lancashire, 
England; Frank J. Drayton. 37 Lltchurch St.. 
Derby. Derbyshire, England; F. Clark, Jr„ 8 
Church St^ Atherstone, Warwicks, England; 
Perlnal Friedman, "Marley,” Faullslanl, 
Mount, I>eeds 2, England; Harold Gottliffe, 13 
Bentcliffe Ave., Leeds 7, England; Bernard 
Cohen, c/o Central Co., 120 Vicar Lane, Leeds, 
Eng.; A. O. Snowden, "Hlllmon” Tlnsnillane, 
Hosforth, lieeds, England; Angus Wilson, 10 
Southfleld Ave., Shotts, Lanarksshlre, Eng- 
land; A. Feather. Bay Studio, Rhosnelgr, Ang- 
lesey, N. Wales. Gt. Britain; S. J. Hallett, 283 
Staveley Rd., Wolverhampton. Staffordshire, 
England; Reginald Taylor. 19 Bott Lane. Wal- 
sall. Staffs, England; S. E. Dench, 16 Glenn 
Ave., Purley, Surrey. England; H. Walker, 
Esq.; 69 Waterloo Terrace, Preston, Lancs., 
(Continued on page 126) 



APPLICATION FOR MEMBERSHIP 

SCIENCE FICTION LEAGUE 

Science Fiction Leagiue, 

22 W. 48th St., New York, N. Y. 

I wish to apply for membership in 
the SCIENCE FICTION LEAGUE. 
I pledge myself to abide by all rules 
and regulations. 



i 



Name 

(Print Legibly) 



i Address 



City 



State 



Age 



\ 

i : 

I Occupation Hobby [ 



I am enclosing a stamped, self-ad- 3 
dressed envelope and the name-strip [ 
from the cover of this magazine (tear j 
off name-strip so that the name | 
THRILLING WONDER STORIES \ 
and the date can be seen). You will • 
send me my membership certificate ; 

and a Hst of rules promptly. > 

• 

8—37 i 



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THE SCIENCE FICTION LEAGUE 

(Continued from page 125) 



England; M. B. Bennett, "The Oaks” Brawn 
Ave., Ballarat, Victoria, Australia, 

Frank Hardy, c/o Pathological Dept., St. 
Bart’s Hospital, E.C. 1, London, Eng.; Arthur 
Humphreys. 21 Sprlngwell Ave., Harlesden, 
London, N.W. 10, Eng.; Peter G. Sherry, 16 
Ms'rtle Park, Glasgow, S. 2, Scotland; Eric 
Clifford Michen, 35 Ruby St., North Perth, 
Western Australia; Ken Marsden, 14 Park Rd., 
Blackpool, Eng.; G. Hastings, 258 Camberwell. 
New Rd^ Camberwell, S.E. 5, lAmdon, Eng.; 
Ronald Fishwiek, 12 Cressington fMns., Elles- 
mere Port Wirral, Cheshire, Eng.; R. H. Hard- 
ing, 38 Central Ave., Maylands, Australia; 
Fred Steven, 243 St. John St., Launceston, 
Tasmania, Aust. ; James S. Marshall, 92 River 
St., Clydebank, Scotland; Andrew Almond, 
251 Marfleld St., Camtyore, Glasgow, E. 2, 
Scotland; J. Hunter. 188 Allender St., Possll- 
park, Glasgow, Scotland; A. Brown, 31 King 
St.. Leigh, Liancs., Eng.; Brian Boyle, 3 Dun- 
creggan Rd., Londonderry, Ireland; P. Peck, 
“Rathgar,” "Hollyreer,” Gareacre, Liverpool, 
Great Britain; L. W. Smith, 12 Sun Lane, 
Blackheath, London, S.E. 3., Eng.; Leslie Cros- 
bie, 172 Kingsland Rd., Shoreditch, London, 
Eng.; Andrew Salmond, 251 Marfleld St., 
Carntyne, Glasgow, E. 2, Lanarkshire, Scot- 
land; N. Pask, Esq., 13 Harley Rd., Harles- 
den, N.W. 10, London, Eng.; S. B. Fine, c/o 
266 a Teppe Ct., Johannesburg, So. Africa; H 
A. Harden, Esq., 313 No. Circular Rd., Neas- 
den, N.W. 10, London, Eng.; D. Conway, 72 
Belgrave Rd., Plaistow, London, E. 13, Eng.; 
J. N. Swain, Esq.. 76 Park Rd., Plumstead, 
S.E. 18, London, Eng.; Vernon, C. Ling, 71 
Dawllsh Drive. Ilford, Essex, Eng. 



CANADA 

Thomas Patton, 3028 Breslay Rd., Montreal, 
Que., Canada; A1 Brown, 407 Queen W., To- 
ronto, Ont., Canada; Bennie Whitaman, 9% 
Black St., Halifax, N. S.. Canada; Howard B. 
Moran, 24 North St., Halifax, Nova Scotia, 
Canada; Chas. Gemmell, 1070 Queen St., W., 
Toronto. Ont., Canada; John V. Perreault, 
6830 Monkiand Ave., Montreal, Quebec, Can- 
ada; T. G. Higgins, 263 N. Brock St., Sarnia. 
Canada- Arthur R Cann, 1120 Topay Ave., Vic- 
toria, B. C., Canada; Harry D^teln, 964 
Broadway W., Vancouver. B. C., Canada; P. 
W. Mofflt, 303 Montrose St., Winnipeg, Man., 
Canada; Eugene F. Denton, 34 Rock St., St. 
John, N. B., Canada; Ralph Browne. 198 Chal- 
ers Ave., Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. 



GUIDE TO SCIENCE KNOWLEDGE 
ANSWERS 

(See Page 71) 



1— Page 26 in THE IRON WORLD. 

2— Page 32 in THE CONQUEST OF LIFE. 

3— Page 32 in CONQUEST OF LIFE. 

4 — Page 56 in THE DOUBLE MINDS. 

5— Page 76 in ROUND ABOUT RIQEL. 

6— (Page 93 in SPACEWARD. 

7— Page 94 in SPACEWARD. 

8— Page 89 in VISION OF THE HYDRA. 

9— Page 102 in RIFT IN INFINITY. 



CANDID CAMERA CATCHES CO-EDS 

126., - 




American School • Dept. DD CSS • Drexel Avenue at 58th Street ■ Chicago, Illinois 



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FORECAST FOR THE 
NEXT ISSUE 

A COMET PASSES, by EANDO BIN- 
DER, in next month’s issue, presents 
a dramatic theme based on astronomy! The 
influence of Halley’s great comet on all civi- 
lizations, past, present, and future! Through- 
out the ages — from the time of the dawn- 
men, to generations thousands of centuries 
later, a comet blazes its incandescent trail 
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— with surprising results! 

J OHN W. CAMPBELL, JR., continues 
the adventures of his two dauntless 
space-rovers, Messrs. Penton and Blake, in 
a new novelette of scientific explorations 
on Callisto. Campbell’s story, THE IM- 
MORTALITY-SEEKERS, describes the 
strange science of a race to whom the se- 
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the thushol and the shleath is the unusual 
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popular series. 

* • • 

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T he HOTHOUSE PLANET, a novel- 
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In addition to all these novelettes, next 
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MEN OF MATHEMATICa By Eric Temple 
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J. W. C. 



CANDID CAMERA CATCHES CO-EDS 



128 



THE STORY BEHIND 
THE STORY 

(Concluded from page 10) 

aginary as it appears to be offhand. Listen 
to what the author says about it: 

The idea behind the story, RIFT IN INFIN- 
ITY, is, of course, obvious. This has been 
a bad year for the airlines, particularly on 
the west coast. Many airliners have crashed, 
with consequent fatalities. With one excep- 
tion they have not mysteriously disappeared. 
Their wreckage has been found. And the rea- 
son for the crashes seems to be the simple 
one of the failure of beacons and signals. 
But it was easy to go on from the fataiitiea 
and imagine that the planes had not cra.shed, 
but had mysteriously disappeared. How could 
that happen? 

Well, space is presumed to be curved. That 
would bring the infinite end of apace around 
a great circle to a point adjacent to its be- 
ginning. Suppose space buckled a little, or 
warped. That might engulf an object, in a 
fraction of a second, in the outermost reaches 
of space. I placed my vanished west coast 
plane in that plight — and the result was the 
story. 

ELIXIR OF YOUTH 

I^ONQUEST OF LIFE, by EANDO 
^ BINDER is based on the radiogen 
theory of life. How Mr. Binder’s hero 
makes use of this knowledge in his search 
for the secret of eternal youth makes fasci- 
nating reading. Here’s what Mr. Binder has 
to say about this theme: 







Follow the World* s Greatest Sleuth 
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An article In a recent issue of Harper’s was 
the inspiration for CONQUEST OF LIFE. The 
article, brought to notice by a friend, spec- 
ulated as to longevity factors in animal life, 
and suggested that some of these factors 
might be artificially changed in the great 
equation of Life — to give an end-product of 
increased life-span. 

Allowing my thoughts to wander from sci- 
ence to pseudo-ecience, I indulged in a bit of 
imaginative ciphering. With the flexible 
terms of cosmic radiation, Crile’s electrical 
analysis of living matter, and science Action’s 
unlimited grab-bag of scientific twists, an 
equation came out that had one end waving 
In infinity. 

There is the tail that wagged the dog. This 
end sticking out beyond reach wagged the 
story for some time before It could be an- 
chored down. 

I rather like Crile’s definition of life in volts 
and amperes and things electrical. It hooks 
up so admirably with the Universe at large, 
which is ultimately reducible to electrons, 
protons, neutrons, and other unit particles 
of an electric nature. 

Living matter is simply aggregations of 
these energetic particles which have combined 
in a peculiar fashion to exhibit the phenom- 
ena of growth, reproduction, and thought. If 
we go on to assume that thought Is purely 
electrical — which Is logical — we find no mys- 
tery to life at all, except the particular ar- 
rangement resulting in its manifestation. 

The span of life — dts boundaries between in- 
dividual birth and death — may be simply an 
accumulative out-of-tuneness with thft eternal 
Universe. And the answer to fixing the out- 
of-tuneness may be far simpler than the pre- 
tentious parade of medical science, biochem- 
istry, and biology admits. 

At any rate, so It is assumed for the sake 
of this story, and I hope I have presented the 
theme convincingly. 

Read 

THRILLING WONDER STORIES 
Every Issue 




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ct '.. Hypno'ism, VeniriloquisTn. Cut-outs for 
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Two of tlic latest, newest models 
miw oiu — 50c and $1 .00. Pattern- 
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L’l! ciiliher blank caitridues obtainable every- 
where. llumly iirutectiuii against burglars, 
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Years, stage work, starting pistol, etc., etc. 

Looks Like A 





blank 
blanks 
exactly like ex- 
>ve automatic. 




Real Revolver 



Strongly c o n- 

Rtrufted with a flashy nickel fin- 
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a second. Medium size. 

Large size $1.00. Blank Car- 
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(Cowboy Type), BOc. SHIRRED j 
BY EXRRE8S, NOT RRERAID. 



Ennni 



A 3 dial s.ifo lock ...... ,Bu 

B.ink. Just dial the three 
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‘*weP In keep vour 
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THRIFTVAULTSli 
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^DANCING 



LATEST STEPS. „ . 

lar. Good dancers are al. 
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Rig, |umbo3i/<2x2i/4 
k5’* bank with regu- 
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twoflcures. Bop-Eye 
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’ ■ and every 



Knockout 

BANK 






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HOW TO BUILD A MIDaEf~RACCR fr»m 
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UMINOUS PAINT 



LUMINOUB BAINT. when applied to an 
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dial cxyoui' wnirh so you can (ell lime 



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JAPANESE ROSE BUSHES 



Perpetual Romo liush needs pro- 
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^TO MOTORISTS 
WITH OIL EATIN6 CARS 




SAVES UP TO 50% ON OIL 

Increases Gas Mileage Up to 45 % ' 



If Your Motor Wastes Oil 
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Sample of Miner's Amaz- 
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At a cost less than spark plugs and in only 30 
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This patented mineral plating process threatens to revolu- 
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FREE 

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Just mail the coupon below 
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Send this coupon at once. 




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you drive and a single application lasts up to 10,000 miles. 



Solves 25 Year Old Problem 



SAMPLE COUPON 



I 



B. L. TVWlinger. Pres. (Paste on Post Card and ntail) 
Ovrhaul Co., K-912. Kansas City, Mo. 

WUhout cost or obligation rush me FREE SAM- 
ridO. Also show me your big money-making plan. 



Name. 



S Address. 

I 



j^ity State 



Since motor cars were first invented — OIL WASTE. LOW 
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AND NOISY MOTORS, caused by worn rings and cylinders, 
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CT’AUT TrtOA send any 

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a FREE SAMPLE of the amazing mineral that 'makes 
such profits possible. No obligation. 

B. L. MELLINGER. Pres., OVRHAUL CO., K-912 Kansas City, Mo. 



I